


fire starting in my heart

by pensgame



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Brief description of a panic attack, M/M, Martial Arts AU, Misunderstandings, Multi, Mutual Pining, No actual violence, Nursey POV, Pining, just boys at practice and a few punches thrown in bc they're dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8391160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensgame/pseuds/pensgame
Summary: Nursey and Dex are just training partners, until they're not. 
Or: the martial arts AU no one asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

Dex was already on the mats before Derek even entered the room, right next to Ransom and Holster, who were already in the middle of a roll. Dex was sitting back on his heels, absently watching Holster and Ransom while peeling skin off his fingertips, a habit which Derek found disgusting.

“You’re not going to have any fingers left,” Derek said, in lieu of “hello.”

Dex peeled a sizeable callus off his middle finger, then flipped it up casually at Derek. “Maybe then you’ll finally be able to break my grips.”

From inside Ransom’s choke, there was a sputtering noise: Holster was either truly choking or laughing at Dex’s chirp. A second later, Ransom released him, and the two stopped their sparring match and started stretching instead.

Derek sat down next to them, his back to the line of smudged mirrors, and pulled his arm across his chest, feeling an aching pull in the shoulder he’d dislocated only a few months before. The shoulder still felt tender, and Derek applied the stretch gingerly, not wanting to risk another injury.

Dex, on the other hand, was intense even in his stretches. Derek watched as Dex stretched his legs out for a moment before giving one of his quads an experimental punch with a clenched fist. He then balled up a fist and rubbed it against the knot, wincing.

Holster, spotting this, groaned and called in a tired voice, “No beating yourself up before practice. Give someone else the chance first.”

Ransom laughed. “Excellent advice from an wonderful brown belt.”

Holster gave Ransom an appreciative clap on the back. “That means a lot, coming from such a marvelous brown belt like yourself.”  
“What a stupendous compliment from an absolutely spiffy-”

“We get it,” sighed Dex, still massaging his sore leg. “You’re _brown belts_.”

“Back in the day,” Holster said, a teasing tone in his voice, “lowly blue belts like you two had to respect your elders.”

“Shit, don’t make us sound ancient,” said Ransom, laughing.

Dex, who clearly hadn’t been listening, said, “I think I worked out that sweep I was stuck on.”

Ransom raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Dex, his voice slightly muffled as he bent into a butterfly stretch. “I wasn’t shifting my hips enough.” Had he been in any other situation, this would have inevitably been followed with a chirp or innuendo, but this was practice, so Ransom and Holster said nothing.

A loud crash from the corner of the room announced Chowder’s arrival. Chowder had thrown his gym bag on the ground so enthusiastically that Derek was half sure it had to have left a mark. Chowder bowed, then bounded onto the mats to take a seat in between Derek and Dex.

“Did you watch the Mackenzie Dern fight this weekend?” Chowder asked Derek and Dex, turning his head quickly to show that he was addressing them together, like he always did.

“Didn’t get a chance,” said Dex, frowning. “Too busy. I heard she was great, though.”

“Did you, Nursey?”

Derek shook his head. “I saw a clip of her finish, though. Looked mad painful.”

Chowder grinned. “She was amazing! And that finish- wow! I’ve been studying it, and I think I figured out how to set it up!”

Derek made a mental note not to let Chowder anywhere near his shoulders or neck during practice.

A few white belts trickled in, looking terrified and sitting in their own little cluster near the door. Derek hadn’t yet gotten around to learning their names, since most of them wouldn’t make it past a month of training, anyway.

Chowder hit Derek in the shoulder, somehow managing to make the gesture fond rather than irritating. “Practice is starting,” he said, and Derek stood up.

“Bow in,” called Ransom, and there was an answering flurry of activity as the students lined up in order of rank. They faced Ransom and Holster, who bowed, and the students bowed in return in one smooth movement.

“Right,” Holster said, clapping his hands loudly. Holster had the knuckles of a true martial artist, which was to say they were disgusting and permanently swollen. “Competitions are coming up in a month, and promotions are just after that. I shouldn’t have to even say it, but be on your best behavior. We don’t need any injuries.” He clapped his hands again. “Let’s jog.”

Derek ran steady laps around the mats, watching one of the white belt girl's ponytail bobbing along ahead of him as he ran. Sound faded away until the only discernable noises were footsteps pounding on the mats, the beat of his heartbeat in his ears, the way his breath seemed to stop and then suddenly catch up all at once with a gasp of air.

Life was easier on the mats, simpler, calmer. There was nothing to worry about, just escapes and drills and submissions. Even getting tapped out was easy, just one quick tap of the hand and then a release from pressure, a return of oxygen to the brain.

After warm-ups, the group divided into pairs for drills. Derek was partnered with Dex, as always, for which he was secretly grateful. If Dex was less than pleasant outside of practice, that didn’t matter. This was _practice_ , and Dex was always a different kind of being at practice. Derek was a little in awe of him. Derek had spent the better part of the year as Dex’s sole training partner, since they were the same rank and close enough to the same weight class to put up a solid fight.

The students formed a circle around Ransom and Holster, who were demonstrating a variation of a choke. Derek watched as Ransom applied pressure to Holster’s neck. Holster’s face flushed to a deep pink before he tapped, and Ransom released him. Ransom repeated the choke several times, slowly demonstrating how to best set it up and how to properly execute it without completely crushing the other person's windpipe. Another loud clap signaled the end of the demonstration, and the group dispersed to try it on their own.

Derek let Dex go first. Derek was accustomed to the feeling Dex’s hand snaking around his neck, finding its way to cut off the blood flow to his brain; they did this every practice. Somehow, it still made his heart race faster. He exhaled, keeping his breathing as normal as possible under the circumstances. There was a time when being choked had made Derek feel claustrophobic, threatened. Now it was one of the few constants in his life. Dex would choke him, and Derek would tap. It was easy, it was safe. Dex tightened his grip, and suddenly Derek’s vision went fuzzy. He tapped quickly, eyesight returning to normal as Dex released him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek could see Bitty choking Chowder. Bitty’s chokes were deadly; Derek had been put to sleep by them twice when he’d underestimated him and not tapped quickly enough. Chowder looked cheerful, as he usually did at practice, though the tightness in his eyebrows suggested that Bitty’s choke was setting in. Bitty tightened the choke, flaring his wrists out so they would press into Chowder’s neck even harder. Chowder’s eyes widened comically before he tapped.

Derek and Dex switched positions, and Derek went to work fitting the bony parts of his wrists into the soft parts of Dex’s neck. Chokes had long been Derek’s weakest attack; his wrists had never been dainty enough to execute a choke with ease. Derek flared his wrists, imitating Bitty, and Dex coughed loudly before tapping on Derek’s arm. As Derek reset the position, Dex looked taken aback.

“You’ve improved,” he said, looking at Derek appraisingly.

Derek laughed. “Say that again when I don’t have my hands around your neck and I might just believe you,” he said, and finished the choke.

* * *

 

Derek waited around on the mats after drills were over, standing and impatiently tossing his mouthguard back and forth from hand to hand.

“For someone who gives me shit about peeling off my fingertips,” Dex said, coming up to him and giving him an almost-friendly shove, “that is for sure a much grosser habit.” Derek opened up his mouth to retort, but Dex cut him off. “Start on the feet?”

Derek nodded, following Dex onto a clear spot on the mats and putting in his mouthguard. This was easy, Derek thought, as he and Dex rolled. They were evenly matched, and Derek’s more technical style complemented nicely with Dex’s stronger style. Derek ended the round with Dex pinned under him, struggling, his face flushed and his neck dotted with pink from Derek’s attempts to choke him. Sweat was shining on his brow, his freckles looking extra prominent against his bright skin. All of a sudden, Derek noticed that Dex looked really, really pretty, and nearly forgot where he was.

“Round’s over, Nursey,” Dex was saying, bucking his hips and tipping Derek off him. “You can get off now.”

“Not now, but maybe later,” Derek said stupidly, watching a trickle of sweat run down Dex’s cheek and suppressing the mad urge to touch it.

Dex snorted. “Gross.” He padded across the mats in search of another partner, and Derek felt his loss, his stomach lurching as though he'd missed a step going down the stairs. 

There was something irritating about Dex’s presence for the rest of practice, something Derek couldn’t quite put his finger on. It unsettled Derek so much that he tapped out four times to one of the brand new white belts, who looked both shocked and pleased at Derek's stroke of misfortune. Feeling completely and utterly off his game, Derek chose to sit out a round rather than attempt another mediocre sparring match. This was an unwise decision, as Dex started rolling with Bitty right beside where Derek was sitting, and Derek spent the entire match noticing just how expressive Dex was when he trained. Little things, like the way Dex’s nose crinkled when he set up a choke, the way Dex sometimes stuck his tongue out a little bit when focusing, the way Dex’s body seemed massive and powerful beside Bitty’s lean, quick figure. Dex was in the process of setting up a leg lock on Bitty, his face set, concentrating hard, when something clicked inside Derek’s head.

There were surely breathing patterns and calming thoughts that Derek had learned to counter panic attacks, but suddenly Derek couldn’t remember any of them.

He liked Dex, liked him in more than just a training partner kind of way. It was an uncomfortable realization, because who the fuck develops feelings for their training partner? What kind of fucked up luck was that?

Breathing was suddenly impossible, and Derek focused hard on remembering how to inhale, how to exhale. _Don’t be an idiot. You can’t forget how to breathe._

Derek was caught in his thoughts, heart still pounding loud in his chest, when the timer went off, ending the roll. Bitty and Dex separated, both looking cheerful. Dex smiled brilliantly at Bitty, thanking him for the match, and Derek had to tear his eyes away from Dex's smile to try to catch his breath.

Suddenly, Dex tapped Derek on the shoulder. He jumped, feeling his heartbeat all the way down in his fingertips. Dizzy, anxious, and tired, he looked up at Dex.

“Got time for one last roll?” Dex asked, brushing a sleeve across his damp forehead. He looked tired but satisfied, and something in Derek’s chest hurt when he looked at him.

“Sure,” Derek said, feeling completely unsettled, too much adrenaline coursing through his chest. There were words he could say, excuses he could make - he was too tired, he needed to be done for the night, he needed to stop looking at Dex’s face - but none of them came to mind. He simply nodded at Dex, who led him onto the mats into a clear area, and squared up, ready to go.

They tapped hands, bumped knuckles, and then Dex was diving for Derek’s legs, attempting a messy - and painful - takedown. Derek, irritated, stepped back out of Dex’s reach, managing to grab Dex’s collar as Dex stood back up. This grip in place, he reached for Dex’s arm, pulling Dex towards him. Derek turned, secured his hips under Dex’s, and tossed him neatly over a shoulder, scrambling for a decent position as they went to the ground.

Derek had been coming to practice long enough to know that there was a line between rolling and fighting. Rolling was safe. Rolling was trusting your opponent not to break your arms, not to hurt you in any serious or permanent way. Fighting, on the other hand, was violent, angry, messy. Suddenly, for no reason at all, Derek wanted to _fight_.

Dex was clearly tired and pissed off too; Derek felt every ounce of Dex’s irritation as Dex dug his elbows and knees into Derek’s sides. There was no “in control” in a roll like this, especially not with Dex, who was now fighting back with every ounce of his body. Every tiny movement Dex made sent a wave of adrenaline and anger through Derek’s body. Derek went for a submission, fumbled, and felt Dex instantly capitalize on his mistake. Suddenly, Derek felt himself tumbling through the air in a painful sweep, landing on his back. He knew what was coming even as he tried and failed to prevent it; his elbow sent a shooting pain through his shoulder as Dex hit the armbar, pulling into it hard, as though he were really trying to break Derek’s elbow. Derek tapped a second too late, and Dex- whether on purpose or by accident - held on for an extra second before releasing him.

Dex climbed off him, turning away without a word, a small triumphant smile on his face. Derek, his elbow smarting and his temper rising, hit Dex hard in the back of the shoulder.

Dex wheeled around, his gaze icy. “Back off, Nurse.” He took a step towards Derek.

“Nursey, you idiot,” called Ransom, stepping in from the side of the mat to intervene. He wasn’t quick enough to keep Dex from hauling back and hitting Derek right in the chest. Derek hissed, reaching forward to hit Dex even as Dex squared up for another attack. This time, Holster found his way into the middle: Derek’s fist collided with Holster’s chest instead.

Even before Holster had time to react, Derek and Dex had put their fists down. It was one thing to hit a teammate, but it was the height of disrespect to hit a coach. Blood pounding in Derek's ears, he took a step back, then another, looking anxiously up at Holster to assess the damage. 

“You fuckers,” Holster said in a flat voice, rubbing his hit collarbone, “are the angriest people I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”

“This is some white belt shit right here,” Ransom added, looking murderous. “You should both be better than that.”

“Chowder,” called Holster, and Chowder quickly crossed to where Holster stood, a concerned look on his face. “Are you up for extra practice tomorrow?”

Chowder looked delighted. “Of course.”

“We need you to babysit these two,” Ransom said. “They need to work this shit out.”

“Sweet,” said Chowder. “I always wanted to live through the Breakfast Club.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Adele's Rolling in the Deep, because the "rolling" part made me laugh. 
> 
> This is my first Check, Please! fic! This fic is un-betaed, so please let me know if there's anything I need to fix! 
> 
>  
> 
> A few things about actual sport BJJ (Brazilian Jiu Jitsu):
> 
> 1\. Rolling = sparring = training = practicing hurting one another in a non-dangerous way! You have to trust your partner to let go of the submission as soon as you tap. Training partners (what Dex and Nursey are) drill together (i.e. learn new skills on each other) and then usually roll once or twice per practice. The other rolls can be with anyone else, of any other rank or weight class, but rolling with your training partner (who is usually in the same weight class) is something special.  
> 2\. The quick switch from rolling to fighting actually does happen, but not with really skilled jiu jitsu practitioners, since they're much better at controlling their anger. Learning jiu jitsu is kind of like learning to use the force. Anger just slows you down. 
> 
> 3\. Mackenzie Dern's fight, which Chowder references, is AMAZING. Mackenzie Dern is the love of everyone's life; she's a black belt who just transitioned into MMA (Mixed Martial Arts). 
> 
> 4\. The belt progression goes from white - blue - purple - brown - black. It takes a loooong time to get your black belt in BJJ.  
> Ransom and Holster, both coaches of the university club, are both brown belts. Bitty is a purple belt. Chowder, Dex, and Nursey are blue belts. (And although they're not going to be featured prominently in this fic, Shitty and Jack are both black belts.)


	2. Chapter 2

Derek usually tried to keep his footsteps quiet when he entered his apartment; he had two other roommates and on principle he generally attempted to avoid being an ass, but today he couldn’t help stomping his feet a little extra, enjoying the sound of his heels against the wood floors. 

He was currently experiencing what his Shakespeare professor called “too many emotions.” The only solution, according to the professor, was to sift them, analyze them, and deal with them one by one. Easy enough when analyzing  _ Julius Caesar _ , but slightly more difficult when analyzing real feelings, which were messy in a way literary feelings weren’t. Derek slipped out of his sweaty clothes, wrapped a towel around his waist, and darted into the kitchen to make a protein shake. The blender was satisfyingly loud, too, and Derek wondered idly if he had a thing for loud noises. Then Derek wondered if maybe he had a thing for loud  _ people _ .

Dex. That was the main takeaway from the night’s flurry of emotions. He could start there. He poured his protein shake into a glass and then headed into the bathroom to turn on the shower. 

“Okay,” Derek said out loud, to his reflection, who looked sweaty and tired and emotionally drained. “Dex. I’m mad at Dex, because he held that submission for too long and because he hit me.”

His reflexion stared back at him blankly, and Derek had to add, “Although I did hit him first. So I don’t have any real reason to be mad at him for retaliating.”

He took a sip of protein shake, the taste chalky and gross and still very satisfying in the way only post-workout food could be. “I was mad at him even before we started fighting,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But I’m not sure why. He was just irritating. And I was stressed out because competitions are coming up. Or I was having a bad day. Or something. It definitely didn’t mean anything more than that.” 

The mirror fogged over, and Derek was glad he didn’t have to look at his reflection and watch his reflexion lie. 

Hopping in the shower was painful, and Derek did his daily body check to look for unusual bruising patterns or anything that looked like it was beyond the usual wear and tear for a martial artist. He hovered extra long over a deep purple bruise that was blooming spectacularly on the inside of his thigh before realizing that this was from Dex’s shitty takedown. 

“Okay,” Derek said again. “Okay. There’s more to it, and I know it.” He paused briefly to take a sip from the protein shake he’d set down on the side of the shower before starting again. “I’m mad at Dex because I have feelings for him, and that sucks.” He let the words sink in, searching his mind for anything extra to add. 

“And I’m stupid to think anything would come out of it,” he said, shaking a bottle of shampoo to pour a dime-sized drop into his palm, “because we’re teammates.” He thought of Dex’s face when he’d released the armbar, triumphant and gloating, and added, “We aren’t even friends.”

Derek fell silent for a few minutes, going through the motions of rinsing his hair without really thinking. This was the best frame of mind to be in when analyzing either literature or emotions, just allowing the thoughts to float in without trying to choose them first or control the outcome. 

“We aren’t even friends,” Derek repeated, quieter this time. “And that makes me really sad, and I’d rather be angry than sad, so I chose to be angry.” He said it before completely processing his words, but he knew immediately that they were true. 

There was nothing else to say, so Derek turned off the shower.

* * *

 

The extra practice was hell, just as Derek had known it would be. There was usually something satisfying about a grueling workout, the way the adrenaline and endorphins drove all other thoughts from his mind and left it blissfully blank. Today, however, every lap around the room seemed to only add to Derek’s agitation. Dex was running in front of Derek, the back of his neck already flushed from the exertion. Derek found that his eyes kept returning to Dex’s stupid neck, to the way his hair was growing back in from a haircut a little unevenly at the nape of his neck. 

Maybe he was imagining it, but Dex seemed to be steadily quickening his pace, either attempting to get away from Derek or to make him feel slow. Derek ran faster, making sure the gap between him and Dex didn’t get any wider. 

“Wow, you guys are booking it,” Chowder called from his corner of the room, shooting two approving thumbs-ups at Derek and Dex. Derek panted a little and tried to contort his mouth into something resembling a smile, though by the resulting look of surprise on Chowder’s face, it must have looked more like a grimace. 

Dex was slowly pulling away from Derek, and Derek breathed heavily out of his mouth while putting on another burst of speed. 

“Stop running,” Chowder called, looking frankly alarmed as he watched the two of them tearing around the room, both all-out sprinting rather than the steady jog they’d been instructed to do. “Not everything is a competition.” 

Derek came to a halt in front of Chowder. Dex, who was seemingly ignoring Chowder’s instruction, managed one more quick lap around the room before stopping in front of Chowder as well. He was breathing rather loudly; martial artists were not usually known for their sprinting abilities. 

“Yeah, Dex,” said Derek, unable to help himself. “Not everything is a competition.”

“Says the guy who did one less lap than I did,” Dex said, in between labored breaths. Derek didn’t even bother calling him out on his shitty comeback; chirping potential was usually limited during practice due to lack of oxygen. 

“One fewer lap,” Derek said, just to be an asshole. “Laps are countable, so you have to use-”

Chowder clapped one hand to his own face, the universal Chowder sign for “please shut the fuck up.” Both Derek and Dex complied with his unsaid request, because Chowder was basically an angel for putting up with the two of them. 

“Sorry, Chow,” Dex said. 

Derek managed an apologetic nod. 

“Shrimping drills,” said Chowder, without smiling. “Twice across the floor.” 

Chowder led them in a surprisingly stern series of warm-up drills, thankfully avoiding any partner drills. Derek attempted to narrow his focus to Chowder’s calls of encouragement and advice, but Dex kept finding his way into Derek’s line of vision and therefore finding his way into Derek’s thoughts. 

Dex was studiously avoiding Derek’s gaze, which was distracting. Derek found himself checking every few minutes to see if Dex had looked at him yet, but Dex continued to be conspicuous in his determination not to look in Derek’s direction at all. 

Finally, horribly, they arrived at the end of single drills, and Chowder looked at the two of them appraisingly. His face finally cracked into a tentative smile, and a little of the anxiety in Derek’s chest eased, only to return again in full force when Chowder said, “Partner drills next, right? I’m just going by the sequence that Rans and Holster gave me.” 

Derek nodded. “That’s fine.” He could be an adult about this. 

“Just to refresh my memory, there’s no, uh, punching in jiu jitsu, is there, Chowder?” said Dex, with a pointed look at Derek. “I’d rather not get hit today.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Derek said, firing up at once. He could apparently not be an adult about this. 

“Guys. Seriously,” Chowder said, almost pleading. “Just be decent to each other!”

Neither one spoke. Derek shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Dex absently began peeling off his fingertips again. 

Finally, after what felt like a year of uncomfortable silence, Derek sat down and said, “I guess we should start with armbar drills.” 

Dex made a sound that probably indicated assent, and positioned himself in between Derek’s legs. Derek hit three armbars quickly, running through the motions completely on muscle memory, and then sat up to let Dex have a turn.

Dex paused in between his second and third armbar, and pulled back. “Is your elbow okay?”

Derek looked at him blankly, noting the tiny crease between his eyebrows. “Elbow’s fine. What would be wrong with it?”

“I thought I might have sprained your elbow. Last practice, you know.” Dex looked sheepish. “I didn’t let go of the armbar fast enough after you tapped.”

Derek let out a shaky sigh. So it  _ had _ been on purpose. “It’s fine.” He motioned for Dex to continue the drills, but Dex didn’t move. Stuck between Dex’s legs was not really the place that Derek wanted to have this conversation, but he thought saying so would be rude, given the circumstances. 

“It won’t happen again,” Dex said finally, and he sounded like he meant it. 

They moved to triangle drills, then leg lock drills, and finally ended after a series of tough shoulder lock drills that Chowder particularly loved. Once Chowder was satisfied with their progress, they took a quick water break. The dull anxiety that Derek had been experiencing all day suddenly grew into a sharper panic. Rolling was next. 

Chowder crossed over to where Derek and Dex were standing, both taking massive gulps of their waters and breathing hard. 

“Before you roll,” Chowder said seriously, “you should apologize to each other. Don’t you think?

“I’m sorry I hit you,” Derek said quickly, setting down his water bottle at his feet. “I got upset.”

“Obviously,” Dex said.

Derek glared at him. “I  _ apologized _ .” 

“You’re supposed to be better at talking about feelings than that,” Dex said, his tone cold. “I’m not an English student and even I know that’s a shitty apology.” 

“Right,” said Derek, willing his breathing to settle down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you. I was emotional. I let my anger get the better of me and I got carried away, but that’s no reason to take it out on a teammate.”

Dex nodded, then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a very kind training partner. I could tell you were angry, and I took advantage of that. I shouldn’t have held the armbar that long, and I shouldn’t have hit you back, and I’ll be better next time.”

_ Be better _ . Derek’s throat suddenly felt tight. He wanted to reassure Dex that he was already great, that he didn’t need to change, that it was all Derek’s fault and not Dex’s. Instead, he said, “It’s okay, dude. We’re good.” He reached out a hand to bump knuckles with Dex, who grinned and extended his hand out too. 

Chowder looked pleased. “Great! Rans and Holster gave me permission to quote Star Wars at you, if you really wouldn’t apologize, but I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

Derek laughed loudly. “Was it the Yoda speech? About anger and the path to the Dark Side?”

Dex shook his head. “Don’t encourage him!” 

Chowder grinned, said, “Too late,” and jumped into the speech, putting on a scarily accurate Yoda voice. 

Over Chowder’s head, Derek made eye contact with Dex, who smiled, his eyes bright and distracting. 

“Should we start on the feet?” Derek asked, not taking his eyes off Dex. 

Dex nodded, and positioned himself so that he was across from Derek, ready to go. His smile was wide and real. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was expecting to have this story done in 4 chapters, but it's looking like it'll be at least 5! I plan to update again by the end of the week.
> 
> A few things:
> 
> 1\. Drinking protein shakes in the shower is great and my favorite experience in the entire world. 
> 
> 2\. The idea that Ransom and Holster would let Chowder coach an extra practice is totally realistic, because coaches do all sorts of weird shit, but probably not wise from a liability standpoint. 
> 
> 3\. Come say hi on tumblr - I just made a Check, Please! and regular hockey blog @ pensgame.


	3. Chapter 3

The weeks leading up to a big tournament fell into an easy rhythm. Practice, eat, sleep. Practice, eat, sleep. All of Derek’s thoughts seemed to be focused on two subjects: the upcoming competition and Dex. He wasn’t sure which was worse: waking up from a dream about the tournament, sweaty and flushed and anxious, or waking up from a dream about Dex, sweaty and flushed and deeply guilty about the contents of the dream.

Practice, at least, had returned to normal. Satisfied with Chowder’s account of the weekend practice, Ransom and Holster gave Derek and Dex pats on the back and commended Chowder on his ability to resolve conflict. Chowder positively glowed at the praise.

“You’d think he never got compliments,” said Dex, not unkindly.

Derek, who was still watching Chowder’s flushed grin as he thanked Ransom and Holster profusely, thought this was probably the case, and made a mental note to be extra nice to Chowder.

“Anyway,” said Dex, “I was thinking more about that spider guard pass, and I think that I have a new way to break lasso grip.”

It seemed that Dex was back to his normal self, casually changing the subjects of conversations to jiu jitsu. His conversations were usually punctuated with random asides about various jiu jitsu techniques. Derek wasn’t sure if he was irritated or charmed.

“We’ve got a few minutes before class starts, if you want to try it out,” he offered, and Dex grinned.

As Dex demonstrated his new technique, Derek found himself paying more attention to Dex’s lips than the words he was saying. He mentally kicked himself for allowing his attraction to Dex to become distracting, and forced himself to pay attention.

“If I move to this side,” Dex was saying, shifting his weight so that Derek’s body moved too, “I think I can get this grip. You see what I mean?”

Derek nodded blankly.

Dex laughed, and stood up off Derek, offering him a hand. “You look like you’re spacing out, man. You good?”

“Yeah,” said Derek, accepting Dex’s hand and getting to his feet. “I’m good.”

Warm-ups and drills were a hazy blur, with Derek’s mind struggling to pay attention to what he was supposed to be doing, but finally they got to the rolling portion of practice, and Derek relaxed a little. This was easy, just muscle memory and reflexes.

He tapped Dex out to a nicely set-up bow and arrow choke, before Dex got him back minutes later with a neat Ezekiel choke that was so tight it sent Derek into fits of coughing. Still, there was no animosity here; Dex released him a split second after he tapped. Dex was clearly on his best behavior. Derek, too, was wary of starting another fight, and if he was a little more gentle with Dex than he normally was, Dex didn’t bring it up.

The rest of the practice passed without incident, but Derek was still ready to get home, to get away from distractions- away from Dex. He hopped off the mats after only a few minimal stretches and began packing up his bag quickly. Dex, who was usually the last to leave, bounded off the mats to follow him.

“Do you want to come over to watch the fights tonight?” he asked, the words coming out a little slurred through his mouthguard.

Derek blinked. “What?”

“I forget who’s on the fight card, honestly,” said Dex with a little laugh, “but you could come over. We could eat, I dunno, pizza?”

Derek usually considered himself an excellent English speaker. Dex was certainly speaking English, sure- Derek could understand each word individually- but these words, in this order, coming from Dex- Derek suddenly wasn’t sure if he had _ever_ understood English.

“Uh,” he said finally, coming to his senses and realizing he’d been staring vacantly at Dex for too long. “No thanks. I have homework.”

Dex shrugged. “No problem.” He took out his mouthguard, tossed it into his bag, and stepped back onto the mats to stretch, like nothing had happened. Like the world hadn’t just stopped.

Like Dex hadn’t just invited him to hang out. Like they were friends.

* * *

“Did I tell you I was going to move up a weight class?” Dex asked Derek, who was refilling his water bottle at the water fountain outside class after the next practice.

Derek spun the cap back onto his water bottle. “No, you hadn’t mentioned it.” He was a little surprised Dex wanted to tell him anything; they’d never been particularly chatty at practice before.

“Well, I am,” said Dex, leaning against the water fountain and accidentally setting it off. He stepped back awkwardly and folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Why would I mind? It’s your body, not mine.” Derek immediately tried and failed to banish all thoughts relating to Dex’s body.

Dex looked pained. “It’s your weight class,” he reminded Derek quietly, as though Derek had forgotten. “I just thought- y’know, since you won your weight class last time-”

“Dex,” said Derek, sighing. “You don’t have to ask my permission. Compete at whatever weight you’re comfortable. I don’t care.”

“I’m just saying, we could end up having to compete against each other,” Dex said, still looking uncomfortable. “If we each beat all the people in our brackets, I mean.”

Derek shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, then.”

Dex visibly relaxed, his shoulders declenching. “Okay. I thought you’d be mad.”

“Dude, I’m not that much of an asshole,” said Derek, offended. “I’d never say ‘no, you can’t compete in my weight class, it’s all mine.’ What kind of person do you think I am?”

Dex laughed. “I don’t know what kind of person you are. You’re all, I dunno, mysterious and brooding.”

Derek laughed too. “I’m flattered, I guess, but I’m not mysterious nor brooding.”

“Oh,” said Dex, which was the Dex signal for another random subject change. “Do you want to lift weights with me tonight?”

“What?”

“I just thought,” said Dex, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes, “that you’d be able to help me gain a bit of muscle. You’re stronger than I am, anyway,” he added, poking at Derek’s bicep.

This was too much, Derek thought. Here was Dex, post-practice Dex, sweaty and delectable, hoping to gain more muscle. Derek had seen Dex’s arms before, seen his shoulders, seen- God- his thighs, and he didn’t think he could handle it if Dex became any more muscular.

Willing himself to remember how to speak normally, Derek said, “I have homework.”

Dex looked disappointed for a moment before cheering up. “That’s fine. I’ll just go by myself.”

Derek made a noncommittal sound, not trusting himself to speak.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” Dex asked. “I wanted to watch a few superfights. One of my favorite black belts is competing.”

“Sure,” said Derek, before he could stop himself.

Dex beamed. “What kind of pizza do you want?”

“Oh, you don’t have to order anything,” said Derek quickly. “I can pick something up on my way.”

“Don’t be stupid, I’m not ordering pizza,” said Dex. “I make it. From scratch.”

Derek felt weak. “Is seven okay?” he finally asked, his face feeling hot.

“Seven’s great,” Dex said. He ducked down to get a drink from the water fountain, and Derek noticed a pattern of little freckles on the back of Dex’s flushed neck. When Dex straightened up, Derek was still staring.

“I forgot my water bottle again, don’t judge,” Dex said, misinterpreting Derek’s stare. “I don’t know how you always remember yours. You’re more forgetful than I am, usually.”

Derek didn’t know how to respond to this, so instead he took a leaf out of Dex's book and changed the subject. “Text me your address, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

“Are you sure Dex won’t mind that I’m coming along?” Chowder asked for the third time, squirming in his seat and tapping his hands on the steering wheel in agitation. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“You could never be any trouble,” said Derek, looking out the window. “And I’m sure it’s cool. Dex probably invited a few other people, too.”

“Did you ever actually ask him if it was okay?”

“Well,” said Derek slowly, “no, but I’m sure it will be.”

Chowder didn’t look convinced, but he stopped fidgeting, which Derek took to be a good sign.

“Oh, damn, I keep forgetting to tell you,” said Derek, turning back to look at Chowder. “You’re a great friend and I really appreciate you.”

Chowder looked touched. “Thanks, Nursey. I appreciate you too.”

“Like, I’m serious,” said Derek. “You care so much about your friends and your team. You do an amazing job of making everyone around you feel valued.”

“That’s- that’s very nice of you to say,” said Chowder, rather stiffly. His eyes looked suspiciously watery as he pulled into the parking lot for Dex’s apartment complex.

Derek smiled and got out of the car. They walked up the three flights of stairs to Dex’s room, then knocked on the door.

Dex opened the door a few seconds after Derek had knocked. He caught sight of Chowder over Derek’s shoulder, and his face did something complicated before changing into a smile.

“Chowder,” said Dex, opening the door wider and allowing Derek and Chowder to follow him inside. He bumped fists with Chowder. “Good to see you, dude.”

Chowder shot a look at Derek. “Nursey said it’d be fine if I came, but-”

“Of course it’s fine,” said Dex quickly. “Hey, the pizza’s almost done, so let me take it out.” He crossed over to the kitchen and checked the oven, an oversized flannel hanging off his shoulders as he bent over. It was strange to see Dex out of the uniform they wore every practice; stranger, still, to think that Dex knew how to cook. There was so much about Dex that Derek didn’t know, and suddenly Derek was overcome with the desire to ask Dex a million questions, to find out all his quirks.

Derek promptly pushed back this desire, vowing once again to keep his distance from Dex. Sure, Dex was making it hard at the moment, what with his determination to act like he and Derek were friends, but that wouldn't last. Dex was obviously just attempting to make up for the fight they'd had. Dex would go back to normal soon, and Derek would be able to happily retreat and forget about Dex.

Dex pulled out two pizzas and set them on a rack above the stove. “I’m not sure if two pizzas will be enough for all three of us, but we can make it work.”

Chowder leaned over one of the pizzas. “This looks amazing, Dex!”

Dex’s eyes sought Derek’s. Derek nodded his agreement. “Looks great.”

Dex smiled. “We can eat in the den,” he said, doling out pieces of pizza and stacking them on three plates. “Drinks are in the fridge, help yourself.”

Derek took his seat in between Dex and Chowder and settled in to watch the superfights. As the first black belt took the stage, Dex whooped. Chowder cheered for the other guy. Derek wasn’t quite sure if Chowder was supporting the other black belt or if he just wanted to make sure he got some appreciation.

“This pizza is amazing,” Derek said, after finishing his third piece. “I could eat this every day. For every single meal. For the rest of my life.”

“That’s basically what I’ve been doing for the past week,” said Dex with a laugh. “Anything that helps me move up a weight class.”

“Protein shakes,” said Chowder around a mouthful of pizza. “Protein shakes are bomb when you need to gain weight. Or smoothies.”

Dex made a thoughtful noise, then stood up. “I have some whey, but I might have some casein or soy around here too.”

Chowder and Derek wordlessly followed Dex over to the kitchen, where he had started rummaging around in cupboards and was now pulling out three large tubs. “Casein, whey, _and_ soy,” he said triumphantly, raising his hands in mock celebration. “Cinnamon roll, strawberry, and peanut butter, I think. Do you want any?”

“Blend them all together and drink it,” said Derek.

Dex considered. “I mean, why the hell not?”

They set to work, throwing frozen fruits, spinach, and various forms of liquid in the blender. Derek could’ve sworn he saw Chowder toss in a dash of pickle juice. When Dex flipped the switch to turn the blender on, it made a horrible sputtering sound and promptly died.

Chowder positively howled with laughter. Dex did a bit of fiddling around with the blender, then plugged it back in. This time, it made the proper whirring sound. As the smoothie blended, it turned a ghastly shade of brown.

Dex made a face, but poured it into three glasses all the same.

“Bottoms up,” said Derek, and clinked his glass with the others’.

It was vile. Chowder and Derek both set their glasses down hurriedly, but Dex managed to down half of his before emerging from behind the glass, spluttering and coughing. Chowder burst into giggles again.

Dex’s laughter was louder than anybody’s, and it made Derek’s stomach hurt in a way that had nothing to do with the disgusting smoothie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Derek, you lovely and oblivious creature. A few things:
> 
> 1\. This fic will have 6 chapters in total. They will likely be much longer chapters, since they take us all the way up to the day of the competition. The next chapter will be posted in the next few days! 
> 
> 2\. I am competing in a martial arts tournament much like Dex and Nursey's this weekend. Yikes! 
> 
> 3\. This fic is un-betaed, so please feel free to let me know if I've made any mistakes! 
> 
> 4\. I'm on tumblr @ pensgame. Come talk to me about OMGCP or hockey or martial arts!


	4. Chapter 4

Dex greeted Derek cheerfully at the next practice, announcing that he’d gained a few pounds over the weekend and was almost at competition weight. Derek, taken aback by Dex’s continued friendliness, nodded but said nothing.

“Two weeks out,” Dex mused. “It’s getting down to the wire here.” 

Derek didn’t reply. Dex must have gotten a haircut over the weekend, because his hair looked freshly trimmed. Derek suppressed the urge to run his fingers through it. 

“Nervous?” asked Dex, clapping Derek on the back in an almost affectionate manner. 

Derek stiffened involuntarily, realizing suddenly how close he was to Dex, and took a step back. 

Dex’s eyebrows furrowed. He looked concernedly at Derek, then said, “Dude, it’s fine if you’re nervous. Happens to the best of us.” He kept up a steady stream of encouragement all through warm-ups, which only made Derek feel worse. 

Dex wouldn’t be standing here, giving Derek this kind of friendly support, if he knew how Derek felt. Dex trusted him, trusted him like a training partner and friend, and here Derek was- well, there was really no other word for it-  _ fantasizing _ about him. It felt like the ultimate betrayal of trust. If Dex found out, he’d probably never forgive Derek. 

“Dude,” said Dex, shaking Derek out of his thoughts. “I know you’re stressed out, but you’re at practice. Working out is probably the most cathartic activity there is, so just relax, okay?” 

Derek nodded and willed himself to stop thinking, to let his body lead, to go into that weird headspace that only existed in jiu jitsu. It worked, in a manner of speaking. Derek’s thoughts seemed to be running at a slower pace, anyway. 

Half-way through a roll with Chowder, Derek got knocked in the head. It was Derek’s fault, undoubtedly. He’d forgotten to move his head out of the way as Chowder had attempted a complicated pass, and Chowder’s elbow had collided solidly with Derek’s temple. Derek saw a brief flash of white light.

“Nursey, oh my god,” Chowder said, scrambling up to staring at Derek in concern. 

Derek sat up, blinking. “I’m fine.”

“You hit your head!” 

Derek shook his head vaguely. “It wasn’t a hard hit. It’s all good.”

Chowder looked unconvinced. “I’m still getting Ransom to take a look at it,” he said, and motioned Ransom over. Dex, who had been rolling with Ransom, came over too, worry all over his face. 

“He’s fine, isn’t he?” Dex asked, watching Ransom examine Derek. Ransom had pulled a bright light out of a first aid kit and was now shining it in Derek’s eyes. 

Ransom shrugged. “Probably.”

Dex hit Ransom on the shoulder. “You’ve got a fucking terrible bedside manner. Please never become a pediatrician.”

Derek laughed in spite of himself.

“He’s laughing,” said Chowder. “Good sign?”

Ransom shrugged again. “It wasn’t a very funny joke. He’s probably gotten amnesia or a concussion or something, if he woke up thinking Dex’s jokes are good.” 

Dex and Chowder both looked panicked, and Ransom quickly added, “He doesn’t have a concussion. He’s fine. But just in case, he should probably sit out for the rest of practice.”

“I could take him home,” offered Chowder.

“That’d be great, Chowder,” Derek said. “I’ll go grab my stuff.”

“Hang on,” said Dex quickly, before Derek had managed to stand up. “I’m his training partner. I’ll take him home.”

Chowder did something with his shoulders that seemed to indicate assent. “Text me if you need anything, Nursey,” he said, before getting to his feet and going to train with Ransom. 

Derek stared after Chowder’s retreating form, feeling slightly betrayed for no real reason. He hadn’t told Chowder about the complications regarding his tentative friendship with Dex, so how could Chowder have known not to leave him alone with Dex?

Derek shouldered his bag and stood by the door as Dex gathered up his things and put them into a large, beaten-up backpack. 

“You won’t believe it,” said Dex, as he followed Derek out the door. “I forgot my water bottle again. Second time this week it’s happened.” 

Derek said, “Weird,” in a voice that was not his usual voice. 

Dex looked at him shiftily. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been off all day.”

“I’m fine,” said Derek, a bit sharper than he had intended. 

Dex looked like he wanted to protest, but said nothing. Derek followed Dex out to his car, which was parked in the lot next to the training facility. It was an old car, but clearly well-maintained. Derek took his seat in the passenger side and looked around. The inside of the car was clean, too, and practically empty aside from a large toolbox stowed in the backseat. 

“You don’t have a car, do you?” asked Dex as he turned the key in the ignition. “Chowder mentioned something about driving you the other day, when we were all hanging out.”

Derek shook his head, then realized that Dex couldn’t see him, since his focus was on the road, and said, “No, I don’t,” out loud.

“You could get a ride with me to and from practice every day if you want,” offered Dex, pulling out of the parking garage and onto the street. “It’s on my way.” 

Derek said nothing. The idea of spending extra time with Dex almost every day was horrible. How long before Dex found out that Derek had more-than-friendly feelings for him?

Dex made a little questioning sound, as though reminding Derek that they were having a conversation, and Derek realized he hadn’t responded. “Oh, no thanks,” he said quickly. “I don’t mind walking.” 

“Okay,” said Dex, a little tensely. “Look, dude, I don’t want to bring it up, but-”

Derek’s heart skipped a beat.  _ Please don’t say it _ , he thought, praying to all the gods he didn’t believe in and the few he did.  _ Please don’t say it. _

“What’s your issue with me?” Dex asked. His eyes remained fixed on the road, but his hands looked tense on the wheel, as though he were stressed about the answer. 

“What do you mean?” said Derek. He could feel his heartbeat all the way down to his fingertips. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, dude, but-”  
Derek cut him off. “‘Don’t take this the wrong way’? When’s the last time anyone’s ever started a sentence with that phrase that wasn’t just completely offensive?”

“For Christ’s sake,” said Dex under his breath. “Let me finish.” 

“I’m just saying,” said Derek, aware he was rambling and somehow unable to stop. “No one ever says ‘don’t take this the wrong way’ unless they’re about to be a dick. It’s like, the epitome of a dickish thing to say.” 

“Fine,” said Dex, “I’ll rephrase. You’ve clearly got a problem with me, and I’d like to know what it is. Better?”

Derek shrugged. “Not really.”

“Don’t be childish,” said Dex, his face pained. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off the road. “Just tell me why you don’t like me.”

“Why do you think I don’t like you?” said Derek, too defensively. “Of course I like you. We’re training partners.”

Dex almost looked like he winced, but a second later his expression was back to a normal, determined calm. “You’re so warm and open with everyone else, and I don’t know what your deal is with me, but can you at least pretend we’re friends, rather than seizing up any time I try to talk to you?”

Derek opened his mouth to speak and realized that he didn’t have any words.

“It’s affecting our training,” Dex continued, finally turning his head to glance at Derek. “I’m not comfortable training with you when you’re all distant and weird. I don’t want you to get hurt again like you did tonight.”

“That wasn’t even your fault,” protested Derek. “You were halfway across the room at the time!”

Dex shook his head. “You looked like you were feeling off during the entire practice. It’s a wonder you made it as far as you did without an injury.” 

Derek scoffed, but Dex ignored him, adding, “You know how important it is to be focused at practice! Whatever you’ve got going on in your life, whatever issue you’ve got with me? Leave it at home. Don’t take that shit to the mats. You’re just gonna end up hurt. Or hurting someone else.” Dex paused as though steeling himself up to say something difficult. “Look, I don’t want to be an asshole about it, but you know how important trust is between training partners. If you don’t get it together, I don’t want to train with you anymore.”

This stung, and Derek suddenly realized he didn’t want to argue, didn’t want to risk losing Dex even in this small way. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it. 

“I’m glad that’s out of the way,” Dex said, pulling into the parking lot outside Derek’s apartment, “because we’re here, and serious conversations are weird in parked cars.” It was Dex’s awkward way of relieving the tension, almost a peace offering, and Derek was grateful for it. 

“See you,” he said, stepping out of the car. 

Dex did a weird head nod thing that probably meant “goodbye,” but Derek wasn’t sure. 

Inside, Derek headed straight for the shower, grabbing a protein shake on the way. He turned the water as hot as it would go and stepped in, letting the heat warm his muscles and drive the tension out of them. 

“Okay,” he said, checking his body for bruises as he lathered himself up with soap. “Okay. Dex thinks I’m acting weird, and I probably am.” He noticed a little fingerprint-shaped bruise on his wrist and examined it for a second. “I definitely am.” 

He reached out for the protein shake balanced on the ledge of the shower and took a sip. “I’m trying to withdraw so Dex doesn’t know that I like him, but that’s upsetting Dex and making my jiu jitsu worse.” He set the shake back down and sighed. “I shouldn’t upset Dex and Christ, I  _ can’t _ afford to get worse at jiu jitsu, not with the tournament so soon.” 

Halfway through shampooing his hair, it came to him. “I need to stop worrying that Dex is going to find out. If he finds out, he finds out.” He rinsed the shampoo out, inadvertently getting some in his eyes. It stung, but not as much as the idea that Dex was no longer comfortable training with him.

“Trust between training partners is essential to avoid injury,” said Derek, repeating an old phrase that Holster liked to trot out for beginning white belts. He sighed again. “I know I can’t change training partners, not this close to the tournament. And I wouldn’t force Dex to change partners. So I need to pull it together. And I need Dex to forgive me.” 

Easier said than done, maybe, but Derek wasn’t stupid. He could come up with a plan. 

* * *

Even though Derek arrived twenty minutes early to practice the next day, Dex was already there, because he was  _ always _ there. He was so dedicated it was almost sickening. Derek hovered in the doorway, watching Dex fold neatly into a stretch, wondering if it was worth it to interrupt Dex’s concentration.

Dex looked up, did the tiniest of double takes at Derek standing in the doorway, but said nothing. He shot Derek a quizzical look. This struck Derek as a very Dex thing to do. Dex had always been better at communicating with his body than with his words. Maybe that was why he was so good at martial arts. 

Sighing, Derek stepped inside, setting his bag down and pulling two water bottles out of it. “Heads up,” he called, tossing Dex a water bottle, which Dex caught neatly. 

“What’s this?” Dex asked, cocking his head to the side as though he’d never seen a water bottle before.

“Since you always forget yours,” Derek said. 

Dex’s expression shifted to something Derek didn’t recognize. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s not poisoned?”

Derek wasn’t sure if Dex was trying to make a joke or not, but he laughed anyway. “Of course not. Can’t have my best training partner falling sick right before the tournament,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual and failing miserably. 

Dex seemed to accept Derek’s unspoken apology, because he brightened considerably and immediately launched into a discussion of the rules of the tournament. Derek let himself listen completely, without his usual determination to distance himself from Dex, and allowed himself to even add in a few suggestions and words of encouragement. 

Dex grinned brightly at Derek’s suggestions and welcomed the additions to the conversation like he and Derek had been friends for ages. Derek marveled at how friendly Dex could be when he wanted to be, how easily and comfortably he made space for Derek in his life. It suddenly occurred to Derek how wrong his first impression of Dex had been. He had considered Dex a cold, intense person, then, before he really knew him. He knew now that Dex was really very warm and passionate, completely and adorably unable to keep his mouth shut about things he loved. The more Derek got to know this version of Dex, the more he liked him. 

“If I can get the takedown,” Dex was saying, gesturing wildly, “I think I can control the rest of the match.” 

Derek nodded, watching Dex wave his hands around in something that was evidently supposed to represent throwing his opponent to the ground, and thought that this new, warm friendship with Dex was better than nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first, a serious warning: headspace is very important in jiu jitsu. If you get into a negative headspace and allow your reflexes to become dulled, you’re gonna get hurt. You can only rely on muscle memory so much. Jiu jitsu is also NOT the place to process serious emotions. 
> 
> A few other things:  
> 1\. They’re such bros, oh my god. “Working out is probably the most cathartic activity there is.” I'm constantly both disgusted and charmed by them.   
> 2\. I meant to get this posted a few days ago, but was too busy training, so sorry for the delay! For anyone who's curious: I competed in a tournament yesterday and won my matches by submission to take home the gold medal in my weight class, so I'm pretty pleased. Hopefully Nursey and Dex will have the same luck in their tournament???  
> 3\. This is unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own fault.   
> 4\. I'm on Tumblr @ pensgame. Come talk to me about hockey or martial arts or OMGCP!


	5. Chapter 5

After nearly everyone had left practice, Derek stuck around to watch Chowder roll competition-style with Bitty, trying to go four rounds in a row to simulate the cardio requirement and all-around stress level of the upcoming tournament. The room slowly emptied out as they rolled, save for Derek, who was judging, and Dex, who was stretching in the corner and who was usually the last to leave anyway.

Bitty won the first match with a well-timed armbar, but Chowder came back and soundly thrashed him in the second, ending with a wicked shoulder lock that left Bitty wincing. Chowder was stronger and able to be more assertive, certainly, but Bitty was more technical and had the strongest closed guard game out of the entire club, so they were pretty evenly-matched. Derek watched Chowder attempting to break Bitty’s guard, his face flushed and frustrated. As if out of nowhere, Bitty shot his body up into a triangle, locking his legs around Chowder’s neck and squeezing his hips up to finish the choke. Chowder tapped, and Bitty let go, looking pleased.

“Nice one, Bits,” Derek called, as Bitty and Chowder tapped hands and took out their mouthguards, heading to grab some water. “Chowder, you were up on points up until you let him submit you, so don’t be too hard on yourself. You both are gonna kill it at competition.”

Chowder smiled. “I’m just glad we aren’t in the same weight class,” he said to Bitty, pushing his sweaty bangs out of his face. “I’d hate to go against my training partner in a tournament. That’d be a recipe for disaster.”

Derek thought of his newfound friendship with Dex, how fragile it still was, and inwardly agreed. He glanced at his feet.

When he looked up, Bitty was studying him intently, giving him the kind of searching look that always made Derek wonder if Bitty could read minds. “You know, Nursey,” he said, “It’s not always a disaster. If you and Dex end up having to compete against each other, you’ll be fine.”

In the corner, Dex’s head shot up at the mention of his name. Though he continued to pretend to stretch, Derek was sure he was listening.

“You’re training partners,” Bitty continued. “And friends, right?”

Derek nodded, then realized that Dex was still eavesdropping, and said, “Yeah,” rather loudly. A small smile crossed Dex’s face where he was sitting, folded in half to touch his toes.

“Nothing’s going to come between that,” Bitty said, with such conviction that Derek almost stopped worrying. He shot Chowder a pointed glance, prompting Chowder to agree.

Chowder blushed and scrambled to say, “Yeah, it’s not always a disaster! Just sometimes. You know. Some things are good and some things are bad…” He waved a hand in a vague, noncommittal gesture and trailed off, looking flustered.

“Are you still up for one more roll?” Bitty asked Chowder. “I could use the cardio practice.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which was damp with sweat. “If Jack were here, he’d be dragging me out of bed every morning for cardio. I still maintain that if the sun isn’t up, I shouldn’t be awake.”

Chowder laughed. “You love him, though.”

Bitty smiled easily. “Yeah, I do.” He put his mouthguard back in and crossed back to the center of the floor, Chowder trailing behind him. They tapped hands and started their roll. Chowder won this one easily. Bitty was tired, and his fatigue showed. Rather than the quick, crisp movements he was known for, he was sluggish and slow. Chowder capitalized on Bitty’s mistakes and took his back before finishing with a tight bow-and-arrow choke. Bitty tapped, his face bright pink, and Chowder let go.

“Nice one, Chowder,” said Derek, bumping Chowder’s fist. “That sweep was killer. Bits, as long as you remember to breathe even when you’re being crushed, you’ll be fine.”

“You say ‘remember to breathe’ like it’s easy,” Bitty complained, though there was no heat in his words. “Chowder’s small and cute and all that, but he’s good at smashing people when he wants to.” He laughed. “On the mats _and_ off.”

Chowder smiled, then shot a nervous look at the corner of the room where Dex was now curled up in child’s pose. He inclined his head over at Dex. “I’m sorry about-”

“Good job training today,” Bitty said loudly, patting Chowder on the back and cutting him off mid-sentence. “I’m going to head out,” Bitty said, yawning a bit too widely to be entirely real. “Early class tomorrow, loads of French to do. Chowder, weren’t you saying something about an essay?”

Chowder blinked. “Uh, yeah, but I wasn’t planning to start it until-”

Bitty gave him a meaningful look. “Let’s go study together.”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Chowder said, going pink again. “Let’s go study.” He followed Bitty out the door. Derek listened to their voices, becoming quieter and quieter as they walked away, leaving Derek alone with Dex.

Dex was now standing, lingering around awkwardly and shifting his weight from foot to foot. It was weird to see him looking so uncomfortable with his body, since Dex was usually in complete control of it during practice.

“Want a ride?” Dex asked. He swung an arm across his body in a haphazard stretch, feigning nonchalance. Derek knew that Dex had already gone through his entire stretching routine and had finished it about 20 minutes before, but didn’t comment on it.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Derek said, but Dex only shrugged.

“Wasn’t a problem,” he said. He looked up at Derek, worry in his eyes. “We’re good, right?”

Derek nodded. “We’re good.”

Dex’s shoulders seemed to relax; at the very least, he stopped fidgeting. “Do you ever feel like our friends are conspiring against us?”

This forced a laugh out of Derek. “Chowder means well, even if he’s kind of clueless sometimes.”

Dex raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

“You’re really good at raising your eyebrows, dude,” Derek said, rather stupidly.

Now it was Dex’s turn to laugh. “I used to practice it as a kid,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “I’d watch myself in the mirror and try to raise one at a time. It was pretty dumb.”

Derek wanted to hear all of Dex’s dumb stories, but he refrained from telling Dex this. Instead, he said, “Are you going to be okay if we end up fighting?”

Dex looked blankly at him. "What, right now?" he asked confusedly. "I'd rather not, I guess." 

Jesus, and he was always giving Dex a hard time for his non sequiturs. "At the tournament, I mean?"

Dex made a face. “I thought you were okay with me going up a weight class.”

“I am,” Derek said quickly, wanting to make his meaning clear. “I just don’t want it to mess up our friendship.”

Something passed across Dex’s face, a look Derek couldn’t read. “Nothing’s gonna mess up our friendship, dude,” he said. “Not now that you’ve pulled your head out of your ass and realized I’m fun to be around.” He said it lightly, so that Derek knew he was kidding.

“You _are_ fun to be around,” Derek said seriously.  
Dex raised an eyebrow again, the expression so exaggerated this time that Derek couldn’t help but burst into laughter again.

“Okay, you got me,” Derek said. “I’m only in it for the pizza.”

Dex looked pleased. “You liked it?”

“Dude,” Derek said. “I would marry that pizza. I would kill- maybe not a person, but like, a poisonous spider or something- for that pizza. I would-”

“Okay, okay,” Dex said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I get it. You can stop now.” He paused. “Aren’t spiders venomous, not poisonous?”

Derek shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

Dex tilted his head to the side, thinking. “They’re venomous.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Poison’s ingested, venom’s injected,” Dex recited, so quickly that Derek was taken aback.

“What are you, a boy scout?”  
“Used to be,” said Dex. Derek had the mental image of a tiny Dex in a uniform, learning how to identify plants, and was suddenly struck with the desire to pour over old baby pictures with Dex, to learn all his stories.

“Anyway,” said Dex, which probably signaled another random subject change, because it always did with him. “There are fights tonight, if you want to come over. I could make some more pizza, if you wanted?”

This was normal, Derek told himself. They were friends, and this was what friendship meant. He was allowed to have this.

“You don’t have to,” Dex said quickly, the tips of his ears turning pink. Derek noticed one tiny freckle on the tip of Dex’s left ear and was immediately charmed by it. “I just thought-”

“I’d love to,” Derek said, and meant it.

* * *

 

The pizza was better than last time, despite the fact that Dex had thrown it together in almost no time at all. Derek was glad that the fights were playing loudly in the background to muffle the sounds of two hungry, sweaty, half-naked boys eating pizza on a couch.

Dex had immediately stripped down to his compression shorts, ditching his sweat-soaked shirt almost as soon as he’d walked in the door. He’d shrugged apologetically at Derek. “You don’t mind, do you? I need to shower, but I’d rather eat first.”

Derek didn’t think he could ever be in a situation with a shirtless Dex and _mind_. He had shaken his head and followed Dex’s lead, stripping down to his shorts as well. Dex hadn’t spared him a second glance.

He’d expected it to be weird, hanging out alone with Dex, but Dex was friendly and relaxed in that way he only seemed to be after a long, hard training session. They were both ravenous, tearing through one pizza and then another in an alarmingly short period of time with barely any conversation. Once Dex was finished, he stood up.

Derek hadn’t seen Dex up close since long before his decision to move up a weight class. He looked stronger now, more powerful, and Derek watched his back muscles moving as Dex stretched out his shoulders.

“I’m gonna go shower,” Dex told Derek, without looking at him. Derek tried and failed to keep his eyes off the back of Dex’s legs, admiring the way Dex’s calves and thighs flexed with the rise and fall of each step. Dex’s legs disappeared into the bathroom, along with the rest of him, and Derek heard the rush of water as Dex turned the shower on.

He was allowed to have this, to spend time in Dex's apartment like this. This was normal. This was friendship. His feelings for Dex were nothing, meant nothing. Listening to the sound of the shower, Derek centered his thoughts around his breathing, allowing his mind to slow its pace and to relax. There was no reason for him to panic.

Dex emerged from the bathroom only a few minutes later, a towel slung low around his hips. He waved a little awkwardly at Derek as he passed by, heading through the living room into the bedroom, presumably to grab clothes. Derek let his eyes linger on Dex’s chest and stomach for only a few seconds before Dex left the room, which Derek considered an accomplishment.

As Dex returned, now fully clothed and wearing plaid pajama pants, Derek stood up. For a second, it looked like Dex’s eyes dipped down briefly to Derek’s chest, but then Dex was composed again, his eyes fixed normally on Derek’s, his expression carefully controlled.

“Do you mind if I shower?” Derek asked, feeling incredibly exposed in comparison to Dex in his shirt and pajama pants.

Dex shrugged. “Be my guest.” He darted back into his room and returned with a pair of pajama pants similar to the ones he was wearing, along with a soft maroon shirt. “There should be more towels under the sink, and you can use my shampoo, as long as you don’t mind 2-in-1.” He laughed softly and handed the clothes to Derek.

Derek, who objected to 2-in-1 shampoo on principle, said nothing, though he got the feeling that Dex was laughing at him anyway.

Derek didn’t dare take too long in Dex’s shower, though he couldn’t resist taking another second to center his thoughts, to say, “Derek, calm down,” out loud. There was something about the warm rush of water that soothed him more than simple breathing exercises ever could. He smoothed Dex’s shitty 2-in-1 shampoo into his hair and said to himself, “Just act normal.” The shampoo smelled like jasmine and spices, and Derek was irritatingly into it.

“Just act normal,” he said again, rinsing the shampoo out and giving his body a quick wash before turning off the taps. He stepped out, rummaged around the cabinet under the sink until he unearthed a small pile of towels, and dried himself off. He slipped into Dex’s pajama pants, deciding to forgo underwear rather than to put his compression shorts back on, and tugged the maroon shirt over his head. There was something horribly domestic about it all. He turned to the sink, ready to attempt to fix whatever damage the 2-in-1 shampoo had inflicted on his hair. The mirror, which was too fogged up for Derek to see his own reflection in it, had a huge smiley face drawn on it, along with the words, “Hi, Nursey!”

Derek was fucked.

“Nursey,” Dex said, the second Derek stepped out of the bathroom, “you have to come see this fight. I rewinded it for you.” He paused and cocked his head. “Rewound?”

“Rewound,” Derek said, approaching the couch. Dex was plopped down right in the middle of it, a pillow hugged tight to his chest. Derek sat down next to him, slightly closer than he’d have liked, but Dex hadn’t given him very much room.

Dex glanced over at Derek, said, “You should wear maroon more often,” and then pressed play on the remote as though nothing had happened.

Derek stared blankly at the screen for several seconds before realizing he was supposed to be watching the fight. A guy in white shorts was beating the shit out of a guy in black shorts, but Derek couldn’t really bring himself to care. He attempted to look interested, said, “Holy shit,” a couple of times, and Dex looked satisfied.

“Good, right?” Dex said.

“Really cool,” Derek said, a bit absently. They fell into an easy silence, occasionally discussing a fight but usually just staring at the screen blankly, too tired to talk.

Dex dropped Derek off a few hours later. Derek was still wearing Dex's clothes, a Tupperware container of leftover pizza tucked under one arm and a warm feeling in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things: 
> 
> 1\. Nursey is so goddamn oblivious that it almost hurts at this point. We're getting to the end of the story, though, so he can't stay this unobservant for much longer.
> 
> 2\. This was originally supposed to be 6 chapters, but I've decided to add an extra chapter to space out the story better, so now it will be 7. Sorry!
> 
> 3\. All of these things (drinking protein shakes in the shower, eating pizza while half-naked, watching the fights with friends while barely conscious) are based on Real Things that Real Martial Arts do. We are not a very put-together group of people, as a whole.
> 
> 4\. FUCK 2-in-1 shampoo. Look, I know that Dex is a huge bro and probably uses Axe shampoo but I can't have Dex using "Bearglove" or "Phoenix" or something. My boy is better than that.
> 
> 5\. Dex's maroon shirt is a very vague and random reference to Ron Weasley and his many hated Weasley sweaters, because hey, angry redheads. I don't think anyone looks good in maroon, but Nursey probably does.
> 
> 6\. I'm on tumblr @pensgame. If you want to talk about hockey or OMGCP or martial arts, I'm your girl.


	6. Chapter 6

Dex continued to drive Derek home from practice, and by the end of the week, Derek no longer felt weird accepting a ride from him. Dex would wait around until Derek was done, or vice versa, and everything fell into an easy routine. 

Chowder gave Derek questioning looks every time they left together, but mercifully knew better than to ask. Bitty was unnervingly observant, too, and shot Derek knowing glances whenever he stared too long at Dex or laughed too hard at Dex’s terrible jokes. 

One week before the tournament, Bitty cornered Derek before practice started, citing some bullshit excuse about needing to go over berimbolos.

“What’s up?” Derek asked suspiciously, as Bitty pulled him over into an empty corner of the room. “You’re better at inverted stuff than I am, so I know you don’t need help with-”

“When are you going to ask Dex out?” 

“Keep your voice down,” Derek hissed. “I- what?”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “When are you going to ask him out?” he repeated, quieter this time. 

“Rewind a second,” Derek said, scanning the room to see if anyone was within earshot. Chowder was stretching out his shoulders against a wall, and Dex was attempting some yoga move that looked positively painful. Nearby, Ransom and Holster were getting in some extra training, and seemed too caught up in their roll to bother to eavesdrop. “Why do you think I like him?” 

Bitty fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Am I wrong?” 

“No,” Derek admitted, still glancing around rather nervously. 

“So what are you going to do about it?” Bitty asked, crossing his arms. Bitty was really very intimidating for someone so short. 

“I was planning to ignore it,” Derek said, deciding that honesty was the best path here. 

“What, you’re just going to ignore it until it goes away?” 

Derek shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Bitty’s eyebrows narrowed. “You’re a smart guy, Nursey, but you’re pretty dumb when it comes to Dex.”

Derek didn’t bother to disagree.

“You realize that you and Dex are both only blue belts, right?” Bitty continued, speaking slowly as though speaking to a very young child. “And that you have many more years of training together before you become black belts?”

“What’s your point?” Derek asked, mimicking Bitty and folding his arms across his chest.

Bitty did not look impressed. “Do you really want to repress your feelings for the rest of your life?”

“I mean,” said Derek, fully aware he was being defensive and unable to stop himself, “we’ll graduate in two years, and then maybe one of us will move away for grad school or a job or something, so it’s not necessarily the rest of my life.”

Bitty sighed very loudly. “Nursey, I doubt very much that you will ever have a Dex-free existence. Even if you move very far away for grad school, you’ll still see him at competitions, at least, what, once every few months?”

Derek shrugged again. 

“And that’s the worst case scenario,” continued Bitty. “Best case scenario, you’ll be training together until you’re eighty.”

Derek laughed a little in spite of himself at the image of an eighty year old Dex. 

Bitty kept talking. Derek wondered how much of this speech he’d prepared ahead of time. “I’m sure you’re worried about it being awkward, but you know Dex. Would he ever let anything come between the two of you? You’re training partners, and you know how seriously he takes that.” 

Derek did know how seriously Dex took that, but Dex took everything seriously. He was an intense guy. Derek opened his mouth to tell Bitty this, but Bitty continued to speak right over him. 

“Besides,” Bitty said, a tone of finality in his voice, “I don’t think training would be the same for either one of you without the other. You make each other better.” 

Derek tried to envision training jiu jitsu without Dex and found himself incapable to do so. The idea of jiu jitsu was now inextricably linked to the idea of Dex in his mind. He was a little in love with both of them.

“I get what you’re trying to say,” Derek said, choosing his words carefully, “but I don’t think telling him how I feel would be a good idea right now.”

“Why not?”

“The tournament, obviously.”

Bitty scoffed loudly. “Is jiu jitsu all you two think about?”

“Pretty much,” said Derek truthfully. 

“And there’s the other obvious thing: Dex doesn’t like me in that way.” 

Bitty sighed, and Derek got the sense that the conversation was over. “You’re really dumb when it comes to Dex,” Bitty said again, and left Derek to go warm up. 

Bitty didn’t bring it up again during the rest of practice. The team was all too busy preparing for the upcoming tournament to worry about anything else. The polite conversation that usually filled the room had disappeared, replaced by an intense, focused quiet.

Dex, too, was quieter than usual. At first, Derek chalked this up to nerves, but realized halfway through drills that something was wrong. As Derek attempted a takedown, knocking Dex over from standing and depositing him firmly on the ground, Dex pulled a face. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but Derek did. 

They reset the position and Derek went for another takedown, this time paying close attention to Dex’s face, to the way his eyebrows furrowed as Derek forced all of Dex’s weight onto his right ankle and knocked him to the ground

Derek helped Dex to his feet and, on the pretext of picking a piece of lint off of Dex’s shoulder, leaned close to ask, “What’s wrong with your ankle?” Something told him that this was not a conversation to be held at top volume, if Dex was already going to great lengths to conceal his injury.

Dex blinked but regained his composure almost immediately. “Nothing,” he said quietly, stepping out of Derek’s reach. 

“Bullshit,” Derek said. 

Dex narrowed his eyebrows. “There’s nothing wrong with my ankle,” he hissed. “Keep training.” 

Derek didn’t believe Dex, but knew better than to pick a fight in the middle of practice. Still, he watched Dex carefully through the rest of training. Dex’s expression was carefully guarded, but Derek still could tell that he was in pain, or at the very least not as fine as he was pretending to be.

Dex still offered Derek a ride home after practice, though his sour expression warned Derek against revisiting the subject of Dex’s ankle. Dex drove on in silence, staring distantly out the front window. 

They were halfway to Derek’s place before Derek's resolve broke.  “I know something’s wrong with your foot, Dex.”

Dex slowed down for a red light, his face inscrutable. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s not fucking fine, you idiot,” said Derek, before he could stop himself. This was dangerous territory, and he was aware he was pushing his luck, but the image of Dex wincing when he put weight on his foot was too fresh to ignore. 

The side of Dex’s neck reddened a little bit, but his face didn’t change. “Don’t call me an idiot, Nurse.” 

Derek sighed. “I know you want to do this competition, Dex, but you’re an idiot if you’re going to ignore an injury.”

“You think I don’t know that?” said Dex, his voice slightly higher than normal. “I’m not stupid.”

“Then stop acting like it!”

Dex turned in his seat to glare at Derek. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“What, am I just supposed to let you hurt yourself even more?” Derek was suddenly aware that he was bordering the line between talking and shouting. He lowered his voice. “Do Ransom and Holster know?”

“Of course not,” said Dex irritably. 

“You’re such an idiot,” said Derek, slapping a hand over his forehead. “You shouldn’t keep this shit a secret from your coaches. You don’t have to go through this alone.” 

Dex rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“You’re going to seriously injure yourself if you compete on a sprained ankle or some shit,” Derek said, attempting to lower his voice and failing. 

“I fucking know,” said Dex, looking frustrated. “I went to the doctor yesterday. I’m not an idiot.”

“And?” said Derek, holding his breath. 

“And it’s tendonitis,” Dex said, after a pause. “I won’t permanently injure anything if I keep training on it.” 

“You’re sure?”

Dex nodded. “Worst case, it takes an extra week or two to heal.” 

“How much does it hurt?”

A shadow seemed to pass over Dex’s face. “It’s not too bad,” he said, but Derek was positive he was lying. “Don’t tell Ransom and Holster,” he said again.

Derek ignored this. “Can you take something for it?” he asked, watching the way Dex’s hands were tapping nervously on the wheel.

Dex shrugged. “I can take stuff for the inflammation, but it’s still gonna hurt. And I’m not fucking with painkillers before a tournament.” 

Derek considered this. “When does it hurt? Are there certain positions that make it worse?”

Dex made a face. “Why are you so curious?”

“Dude, you’re my training partner,” said Derek. He debated for a second whether or not to say more before adding, “And my friend.”

Dex looked slightly mollified by this comment. “It’s painful when I straighten out my foot, or when I bend it to the side, or when I put weight on it for longer than, like, 30 seconds.” He paused again, frowning. “Don’t ask me not to compete.” 

“I wouldn’t,” said Derek. “And I won’t tell Ransom and Holster if it’s really so important to you. But you know what this means?”

Dex raised an eyebrow as he signaled and changed lanes. “What?”

“You just have to win all your matches in the first 30 seconds.”

Dex laughed, a full-on belly laugh that echoed through the car. “Think I can?”

“Dex, come on,” said Derek, serious now. “I think you can do anything.”

It was a little too serious, but Dex didn’t tease him. Instead, he flushed, looking rather touched. 

“You know,” said Dex, and Derek braced himself for a random subject change. “I have this visualizing drill that I do every day. It’s kind of silly.” He glanced up at Derek. “Don’t laugh.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Derek, with a mock salute. 

Dex pulled into Derek’s parking lot and stopped the car. “While I’m washing my hair,” he said. “I stand in the shower and think about how I can be better. Moves I can improve, that kind of thing.” He turned off the car. “I guess I need to start visualizing how to finish my matches in 30 seconds now.”

Derek wanted to laugh, but not because he thought it was really funny. It was really rather said, now that he thought about it: Dex spent his showers deep in thought about getting better at jiu jitsu, while Derek spent his trying to calm his anxiety about Dex. “Visualization,” he said finally. “What a good idea.”

* * *

 

Derek kept his word and said nothing about Dex’s injury to Ransom and Holster during the next practice. Since it was the final practice before the tournament, everyone was much too focused on their training to notice the intricacies of Dex’s facial expressions. Derek noticed, of course, but he usually noticed almost everything about Dex anyway. 

Dex approached the final training session with his usual intensity. He and Derek barely spoke, each caught up in their individual plans for the tournament. Derek focused on making his movements strong and decisive, hoping to knock his opponent off balance and get a submission before they could regain control. 

Dex, meanwhile, was trying to make quick movements, and Derek knew he was creating a game plan in which he could win his matches in 30 seconds or less. It looked like he was attempting to ignore the pain in his ankle but not succeeding very well; he kept wincing when he put weight on it and was clumsier than usual. Derek was positive that Dex could win all of his matches in the first 30 seconds if he needed to, but then again, Derek believed that Dex could do anything. 

By the end of practice, Derek could feel Dex’s frustration in every one of his movements. Dex was harsher in his movements than usual, executing submission after submission with precision and speed, leaving Derek’s bad shoulder hurting. Weeks ago, Derek would’ve responded with anger and aggression in return, but today he decided to let Dex be the aggressor and took the opportunity to brush up on his defensive skills. Dex needed this today, so Derek would be a good partner, even if Dex was being a bit of a dick. 

Just as Derek had resolved not to get upset at Dex's aggression, Dex caught him in a nasty armbar. Derek attempted an escape and fumbled it, which Dex immediately capitalized upon. A sharp pain shot through Derek’s elbow as Dex continued to try to break his arm. Derek wondered, with a flare of anger, if Dex would hold on to the submission like he had all those weeks ago, when Derek and Dex had gotten into a real fight. Frustrated and in pain, Derek tapped his hand against Dex’s leg; Dex immediately released him and pulled him to his feet. Derek's anger subsided, replaced with a feeling of fondness and, surprisingly, pride. He felt suddenly much older than he had been weeks ago when Dex had incensed him into violence. 

“You okay?” Dex asked, surveying Derek as though wary of being hit. 

Derek grinned and took out his mouthguard. “You’re going to kill it at the tournament.”

Dex looked confused for a moment before his face split into a smile. “So are you,” he said. He extended his hand to bump Derek’s fist. Derek ignored the gesture, pulling Dex into a tight hug instead. When he pulled back, Dex’s face was bright red, though he didn’t look displeased. 

“Do you-” began Dex, before being cut off by a shout from Holster.

“Great practice, everyone,” Holster called, clapping his hands. “We’re done for today. Let’s line up and bow out, and we’ll see you all at the tournament this weekend.”

The team arranged themselves into neat rows in order of rank, facing Ransom and Holster. Holster clapped again, and the team bowed before splitting off into groups to stretch and chat. 

“Do you want to roll one more time?” Dex asked, hitting Derek on the shoulder in a friendly way. The motion felt fond, and Derek was again struck by just how much had changed in the past few weeks. Dex, too, seemed to be a different person, and Derek liked him more than anything. 

“Sure,” said Derek. “Let me stretch out my shoulder first, but I’ll be good in a few minutes.” 

Dex settled down next to him as he stretched. “Do you feel ready for the tournament?” he asked, watching Derek rotating his sore shoulder in slow circles.

Derek laughed. “I think so. I guess we’ll find out if I’m ready.”

Dex chuckled softly. “Think we’ll end up having to compete against each other?”

“Probably,” said Derek. “If we make it through all of our matches, we’ll eventually have to compete against each other for gold and silver, right?”

“Gold and silver, huh? You’re pretty confident for someone who can’t manage to escape an armbar,” teased Dex. 

Derek laughed again. “It’s those visualization drills you suggested,” he joked, swinging his arm across his chest and feeling his shoulder twinge in protest as he stretched it out. "I visualized us winning, so we're going to win." 

Dex snickered. “Do you really visualize things in the shower?” 

“Yeah,” said Derek. “Sometimes.” 

Dex raised an eyebrow. “Jiu jitsu things or other things?”

“Other things,” said Derek. He felt a little reckless, high on endorphins and on Dex’s presence right beside him. He turned his head so he was looking directly at Dex. Their knees were almost touching, and Dex blushed a little but didn’t move away. “Life stuff, you know? Things I want.”

Dex nodded. His gaze was somehow more intense than normal. He was really very freckly, Derek noticed, and even had a few freckles on his lips. Derek really, really didn’t want to look away, not when Dex was looking at him like that. Not when Dex was looking at Derek's lips- 

The slam of the door brought both of them to their senses. Derek swiveled around and saw that the room had slowly filtered out while he and Dex had been talking; they were now completely alone. 

“Um,” said Dex, looking as unnerved as Derek was to find the room completely empty. “Should we get in one more roll?”

Derek really didn’t want to move, and he got the sense that Dex didn’t want to either, but he said, “Sure,” anyway. 

They got to their feet and took their places across from each other. Derek put his mouthguard back in. Dex retied his belt. Somehow, Derek no longer felt like he had to hide anymore, so he watched Dex readjust his clothing, not bothering to keep the hungry look off his face as he stared. Dex flushed, but met Derek’s gaze with a hard, blazing look and didn’t look away.

They tapped hands, and Dex immediately dropped to his knees, wrapped an arm around Derek’s leg, and drove him to the ground. He dropped into side control, pushing Derek down with all his weight. Out of breath, Derek struggled to regain control and to get to a more advantageous position, pressing one wrist into Dex’s neck and the other against Dex’s hip bone to get Dex off him. It worked, and Derek wrapped his legs around Dex to pull him into closed guard. 

Dex struggled, attempting at first to just pick Derek up and then resorting to excessive use of elbows to get Derek to move his legs. Dex finally broke Derek's guard and dropped down into mount, straddling Derek's body and pushing his arms above his head. Dex looked down at Derek, who was now pinned down and struggling to move under Dex's powerful thighs. 

Suddenly, inexplicably, something in Dex's intense expression broke. He full-out laughed, the noise a little muffled from his mouthguard. Derek had never, in all his time training with Dex, seen Dex laugh during a roll. 

Dex laughed so hard that his arms gave out, giving Derek full access to his arm, which Derek immediately capitalized on, pulling Dex into a sweep and maneuvering himself into mount, now sitting and straddling Dex’s chest. Dex was still laughing and struggling under Derek’s thighs, so Derek took the opportunity to choke him. Dex tapped, and Derek let go but didn’t move off of Dex’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” said Dex, laughing so hard he was now starting to tear up. He took his mouthguard out with one hand and wiped his eyes with the other. “I don’t even know what’s so funny. I just- you just looked like-” 

Derek laughed too, though he wasn't sure why. 

“This is a terrible last practice before the tournament,” said Dex with a sigh, once he'd finally calmed down. “But oh well.”

“Just don’t laugh at your opponent at the tournament,” Derek advised, taking out his mouthguard as well. He wondered if he should move his legs, move off Dex’s chest, but decided against it. “I doubt that’s an effective submission.”

Dex chuckled again. “I’m sorry for laughing,” he said, though he was still smiling so widely that Derek knew he wasn’t really sorry. “I need to- ugh- be better.”

Derek snorted. “You’re already really good,” he said seriously, watching as his words made Dex flush again. “I don’t think you need to be better at all.”

“I train better with you,” said Dex, still smiling up at Derek. 

Derek remembered, suddenly, what Bitty had said.  _ You make each other better.  _ He knew what he had to do. He leaned down, as easy as if he were going for a choke, and kissed Dex. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kiss! Finally!
> 
> Next up: the tournament. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr @ pensgame.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [not actually the last chapter, sorry folks]

“Oh shit,” said Dex, once Derek had pulled back.

Derek’s heart was racing. He studied Dex’s face closely, looking for signs of - something, anything, but Dex’s face had gone momentarily blank.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, moving to climb off Dex. Dex grabbed his hand, keeping him in place.

“What the fuck, dude?” said Dex, staring up at Derek. He didn’t sound angry, just surprised and maybe a little confused. His hand was still firmly in place around Derek’s wrist.

“Uh, sorry,” repeated Derek, feeling like he was missing something important.

Dex’s face did something complicated, and he slapped his free hand across his forehead. “You finally kiss me after all this time, and you say ‘sorry’?”

“What?” Derek did not have the emotional capacity to process all this. “I’m- hold on, sorry, you’re gonna have to rewind. After all this time? What?”

Dex groaned. “This is not a conversation to have while you’re still, uh, on top of me.” At this, Derek scrambled immediately to get off of Dex, but Dex grabbed his wrist and pulled him back again. "Not that I object to having you on top of me. In fact, it's totally cool if you just stay there. Forget I said anything." 

“Hold on,” said Derek, and Dex stiffened momentarily underneath him. “Are we talking about this, or-?”

Dex reached a hand to cup Derek’s cheek, effectively silencing Derek. “Rain check on the conversation? If you want, that is. Since you’re already on top of me, and all. Wouldn’t wanna waste an opportunity like this.”

Derek was still bewildered, but figured he could get with the program if it meant he could kiss Dex again. “Uh, sure,” he said.

“Good,” said Dex. His fingers brushed over Derek’s cheeks. They were surprisingly soft for the fingers of a trained martial artist, and the motion made Derek’s breath catch in his throat. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do this,” said Dex, and then he leaned up to kiss Derek.

Derek’s mind went completely, blissfully blank.

There were few things Dex loved more than good training days, days when everything felt easy and smooth. Training with Dex was usually like this. Dex was able to effortlessly transition from one position to another, and on really good days, Derek almost felt like there was no fight at all between them, just a choreographed dance of transitions and submissions. There was no need to think, no need to be in his head at all.

Kissing Dex was like this too, natural and easy. Dex was able to read Derek’s movements just as well when making out with him as when sparring with him, responding beautifully to every kiss, to every touch. Derek trailed a line of kisses down the side of Dex’s neck, and Dex gasped and leaned up to kiss Derek again and bite his lip a little, and it was simpler than any skill combination Derek had ever learned at practice.

“Nursey,” gasped Dex, as Derek made to kiss his neck again, this time biting a little at the skin there, “we should- oh, fuck- we should stop.” Derek abandoned his ministrations at Dex’s neck and pulled back. Dex seemed to read the worry on his face, because he added quickly, “No, it’s just- my abs really hurt like this.”

Derek realized that Dex had been leaning up to kiss him for the past several minutes, essentially doing a prolonged version of a sit-up. He rolled off Dex, who dropped his back down to the floor and exhaled loudly.

“This is my ab workout for the day,” Dex joked, rubbing a hand across his side, and Derek laughed even though it wasn’t very funny. He felt lightheaded and a little bit giddy.

“Glad I could help out,” he said, which made Dex laugh, even though it wasn’t very funny either.

Derek lay on his back next to Dex and paused for a moment to catch his breath. By the looks of it, Dex was doing the same: his eyes had drifted closed and he looked like he had just completed a rigorous day of training

“Hey,” Derek said finally, once he’d regained control of his breath. “What did you mean, ‘I’ve been waiting a long time to do this’?”

Dex opened his eyes and turned to look at Derek, propping himself up on an elbow. Derek couldn’t shake the idea that this was a conversation that would usually be had in a bed, and found himself imagining that he and Dex were lying next to each other on a pile of comforters rather than on a sweaty gym mat.

“Pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it?” Dex said.

Derek couldn’t help asking, “You wanted to kiss me?”

Dex sighed. “Yes, Nursey, I wanted to kiss you. Is that what you want me to say?”

“You think I’m hot, don’t you?” Derek asked, grinning widely.

Dex looked like he was trying to appear unamused, though his smile was threatening to spread across his face. “You’re such a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Dex wants to kiss me, Dex wants to kiss me,” Derek said in a sing-song voice, laughing as Dex blushed. “Dex thinks I’m gorgeous.”

“Oh shut up,” Dex said. His face was bright red, but he didn’t look irritated. He looked rather fond.

“Make me,” said Derek, half-kidding, half-hoping Dex would make a move.

Dex reached a hand out to stroke Derek’s cheek again, then pulled him forward and kissed his neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there. He pulled back just far enough to whisper in Derek’s ear, “If we weren’t in a public building, I’d blow you right now just to get you to quit being so”- he kissed Derek’s neck again- “fucking”- he punctuated this with another kiss and a bite- “annoying.”

This shut Derek up quickly. He gaped blankly at Dex, who pulled back and bounced to his feet with a wicked grin. “I should get to bed soon if I want to get enough sleep before the tournament. Want a ride home?”

Derek could only nod.

Derek had very little time to process what had just happened once he got home. He needed to get to bed as early as possible; he would need to get to the tournament facility very early the next morning, and therefore couldn't sit around thinking about Dex all night, even if he really, really wanted to. He hopped in the shower, paused to say, “Holy shit,” several times and to run his hands over all the places on his neck and jawline that Dex had kissed, but he didn’t allow himself the luxury of truly thinking through what had just happened. He was a little scared. He still had a lot of questions. He could put it off until later, probably.

“After the tournament,” he said to himself, “I will talk about this with Dex. I will find out where we stand. But not until I have a gold medal in my hand.” He spent the rest of the shower in silence, massaging shampoo through his curls and envisioning winning the tournament. He imagined the ref raising his hand in triumph, imagined the feel of the first-place podium under his feet, imagined the chill of the medal draped across his chest. He shivered a little, mostly out of anticipation and also because his water had run cold.

As Derek grabbed his phone to set an alarm for ungodly-early o’clock in the morning, he noticed that Dex had texted him. He opened it with some trepidation and read:

_I’m still giving you a ride to the tourney tomorrow, yeah?_

Of course it was about the tournament. Though Derek was glad that Dex was still acting like nothing had changed, he was a little disappointed that Dex didn’t acknowledge what had happened. Derek texted back _yes please_ . Dex responded almost immediately with _sounds good, see you at 6:30_.

Derek set down his phone, only to pick it up a second later when it vibrated again, with another message from Dex.

_PS thanks for the hickeys_.

Derek shivered again, and this time it definitely wasn’t from the cold.

* * *

 The morning of the tournament dawned icy and dreary, the kind of morning that usually made Derek want to stay in bed for years. Today, however, was a tournament day, which meant all bets were off. Derek was up at the crack of dawn to weigh himself, take a hot bath, and weigh himself again. He was close enough to his weight class that he didn’t need to cut any more, which was a blessing, so he drank a bit of water and waited for Dex to arrive. All that was left was to lug their bags to the training center.

Dex didn’t talk much on the ride over, but Derek was too tired to hold a real conversation anyway. Instead, he let his head rest against the chilled glass of the window, caught somewhere between consciousness and sleep. Every now and then, Dex glanced over at him from the driver’s seat. He watched Derek, half-dozing against the window, and smiled. Derek caught him looking, a few times, but Dex didn’t look embarrassed.

The facility was giant and freezing cold inside. The mats were already set up, several rings spread out across a giant room with rows of bleachers surrounding each ring. It was practically empty aside from several tired-looking refs and a few people clustered around a scale.

They checked in and received free shirts with terribly-made graphics printed on them that were probably supposed to represent two people grappling, though they looked more like a couple going at it. Derek avoided eye contact with Dex as they received the shirts; he knew if he and Dex looked at each other, he wouldn’t be able to control his laughter.

“Do you want to weigh in now?” the check-in woman asked, as Derek stowed the shirt in his gym bag and stifled his laughter. “It’s early, but the scale’s open if you need it.”

“Yeah,” said Derek, thinking longingly of breakfast. He added a hasty, “Thank you,” as the woman shuffled over to the scale. He followed her and took off his coat and sweatshirt, placing them beside the scale. Suddenly a little self-conscious, he asked, “It’s cool if I strip down to my compression shorts, right? The rules said that you can weigh in wearing any clothing you want, so I figured-”

The woman nodded, looking very tired and rather irritated at being made to deal with stressed-out martial artists so early in the morning.

Derek peeled off his pants and shirt and took his place on the scale, feeling rather exposed in the cold tournament center.

The woman made a check mark on a clipboard and wrote something down, then dismissed him. “Does your ginger friend want to weigh in next?”

Derek snorted. “Probably.” He waved Dex over, shouting, “Hey, ginger friend!”

Dex trotted over, staring a little at Derek’s chest as he joined them. Derek caught him looking, and Dex’s ears turned pink.

“Ginger friend?” Dex asked, raising an eyebrow at Derek.

Derek only shrugged and pulled his sweatshirt back on. “Forgot your name for a sec, no biggie.”

Dex snorted. “Like you could forget me if you tried.”

He had a point, so Derek didn’t even try to come up with a decent retort. Instead, he took a leaf out of Dex’s book and changed the subject. “I’m gonna grab some breakfast next door. Wanna join?” He had noticed a pancake house on the drive in and was now hungry enough to eat just about anything.

Dex nodded, already in the process of stripping down to his shorts. Derek wasn’t sure if it would be weirder to look or to avoid looking, so he settled for staring awkwardly down at Dex’s left calf, noting the muscle definition there. A second later, Dex flexed his leg, snickering, and Derek was forced to look up. Dex had put on a lot of muscle over the past month as he gained weight. He looked thick and powerful, and Derek pitied anyone who would have to face him on the mats.

The woman made a checkmark on her clipboard again. “You’re all set,” she said, sounding bored. Derek could not imagine what kind of person could be at a jiu jitsu competition without being psyched out of their goddamn mind, so he pitied her a little.

They thanked the woman profusely for weighing them in so early before dashing over to the pancake house and demolishing an absurd amount of food. Their waitress, who had stopped by halfway through the meal to ask if they were enjoying themselves, backed away in some alarm when she saw how rapidly and enthusiastically they were destroying their pancakes.

“Making weight sucks,” Derek sighed, finishing off one stack of pancakes and starting on an omelet.

Dex made a sympathetic noise around a bite of breakfast potatoes. He swallowed, then said, “We’re pretty lucky, though, aren’t we?”

“ _You_ are,” said Derek, still preoccupied with food. “You got to go _up_ a weight class. You’ve been living on whey and creatine for weeks now. You probably don’t even have to worry about making weight.”

Dex waved a hand distractedly. “I don’t use creatine. Anyway, that’s not what I'm talking about.”

Derek paused, a forkful of hash browns raised halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”

Dex took a long swig of chocolate milk, then said, “We get to compete in a sport we love, you know? And we’re _good_ , because we train hard every day. We’re really lucky.”

This was such a Dex thing to say. Derek was pretty sure that what Dex was describing was hard work, not luck, but trust Dex to equate the two. Derek wanted to hug him, and only barely restrained himself from leaping across the table and smothering him in affection and praise. Instead, he said, “You’re right. We are really lucky.” He meant it in a way that encompassed more than just martial arts, but if the look on Dex’s face was any indication, he was pretty sure Dex knew what he was saying.

* * *

Dex disappeared the second they stepped back into the tournament center, presumably to find a place to sit, but Derek lingered at the check-in desk again to look at the brackets in his weight division and to slip the tired check-in woman a large coffee. As he studied the brackets, he was pleased to discover a handful of new names in the brackets mixed in with a few names he recognized from previous tournaments.

With the amount of contenders, he and Dex wouldn’t have to face each other unless they each won two matches. If they did, it would be to determine the gold and silver medals. He wondered if competing against Dex would complicate their already complicated situation, then tried to put the idea out of his mind. 

Someone called Derek’s name, and he whirled around to find Bitty and Chowder standing in front of him. Bitty was shirtless and Chowder was holding his pants in one hand, so Derek assumed that they had just weighed in.

“Feeling good, Nurse?” Chowder asked, reaching up to pat Derek on the shoulder with his free hand.

Derek nodded. “You?”

Chowder smiled. “I feel ready. Just gotta get in the zone and keep up my defense game, and I’ll be solid. I’m not in the mood to get tapped out today.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Derek bracingly. “Bits, how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” said Bitty dismissively. Bitty didn’t like talking much before a tournament and Derek knew better than too mess with another martial artist’s superstitions. “You’re here early.” There was a suspicious quality to Bitty’s tone that Derek didn’t much like.

“Yeah, Dex gave me a ride.” Derek tried to sound natural, but probably failed. Chowder and Bitty exchanged knowing looks but thankfully did not comment.

“Have you seen Ransom and Holster yet?” Chowder asked, politely changing the subject. Derek loved him for it.

Derek shook his head. “Nah, they’ll probably show up later. Brown belt privileges and all that.”

Chowder looked mildly worried at this, but Bitty added, “I’m sure they’ll be here in time to watch us compete and to coach, don’t worry.” He looked around the room. “Where’s Dex?”

They all looked around. A girl was stretching on the mat closest to them, and two boys were rolling on another mat, but the rest of the room was nearly deserted, aside from Dex, who was practicing inversions in the corner of the room.

And _of course_ Dex was already warming up, because Dex was always aggressively early in everything he did. He nodded at Derek and the others and gestured for them to come join him in his corner. Dex had spread his things out on the row of bleachers nearest to the mat, probably to claim them for the rest of the club, because Dex was always aggressively considerate, too.

“Warming up already?” Bitty asked, taking a seat on the mat next ot Dex.

Dex, who had just flipped himself upside down, came out of the inversion at Bitty’s words. “I couldn’t wait. I can’t just sit around for the next few hours, you know?”

Derek understood.

Bitty made a tutting noise that probably indicated disapproval. “You don’t want to wear yourself out, though.”

Dex shrugged. “Look, Bits, I know you taper off your training on the day right before a tournament, and that’s cool, but you can’t expect everyone to respond as well to the same kinds of training. You like to take it easy and try to relax. Nursey here likes to nap. Me, I feel better if I keep working hard right up until I have to compete. Not everyone’s the same.”

Bitty looked mildly taken aback and asked, almost to himself, “Did Dex just school me on the importance of tolerance?”

“Yeah, Bits,” said Derek, just to be annoying. “No need to be a workout-hater.”

Bitty grimaced. “I knew you two would be disgusting when you finally figured your shit out.”

Derek looked sideways at Dex, surreptitiously checking for any signs that Dex was irritated or embarrassed, but Dex looked unbothered. Either he hadn’t caught Bitty’s implication, or he just didn’t care.

“I wish I could take a nap,” said Derek, yawning loudly. “Dex, is your car unlocked? I might go crash in your backseat.”

Dex shook his head. “Just sleep here,” he said, indicating the space beside him on the mats. “The first bracket doesn’t start for another two hours, right?”

Chowder nodded.

“So no one will disturb you,” said Dex. “I’m sure we have enough coats and jackets between us to make a blanket.” He stood up, rummaged around in his bag for a minute, then threw Derek a big winter coat. He grabbed Derek’s coat too and chucked that at him as well.

“You’re a genius,” said Derek, plopping down on the mat and draping the coats over himself. It was really quite cozy, especially once Bitty and Chowder added their coats to the pile.

“We’ll stand guard over you and make sure to wake you up in time,” Chowder reassured him, patting him on the top of the head as though he were tucking him into bed. “Right, Bitty?”

Bitty didn’t answer. Derek couldn’t see him from under the pile of blankets, but he assumed Bitty was in his pre-tournament freak out session and should probably not be disturbed.

There was a pause, during which Chowder seemed to decide it was best not to push his luck with a stressed-out Bitty. Then he asked, “Right, Dex?”

Dex’s voice sounded warm and comforting when he said, “Right, Chowder. Nursey, we’ll wake you up in an hour or so, okay?”

Derek said, “Okay,” but it was probably too soft for Dex to hear him. He was already tired and his body felt lethargic and slow. After a nap, everything would be better. 

“We’ll be right here beside you the whole time,” said Dex. After a nap, everything would be better, and Dex would be sitting right next to him. Derek felt very, very lucky indeed.

Derek woke to the sounds of a crowd buzzing around him, but he felt refreshed and ready to go as soon as he opened his eyes. He threw the pile of coats off him, blinking at the bright lights of the tournament facility.

Dex was still sitting next to him, but Chowder and Bitty had disappeared. The room was suddenly much busier than when Derek had last seen it. There was a restless energy in it that seemed to fill Derek with the desire to move, to _fight_.

Dex looked up from where he was stretching out his ankles and said, “You could’ve slept longer if you wanted to. I would've woken you up in time.”

“Nah,” said Derek, getting to his feet and bouncing around a little. “I’m ready. I feel ready.” He smiled at Dex. “I’m ready to destroy everyone in our bracket. You with me?”

Dex grinned broadly back at him, and that was all the answer Derek needed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> 1\. Remember when I said that this would be the last chapter? Well, since this "final" chapter clocked in at about half the length of the entire rest of the fic, I've decided to split it into two chapters. I will post the next and final chapter tomorrow! 
> 
> 2\. This was originally meant to be a very short, fluffy fic, but it ended up turning into a multi-chaptered story. Thanks for sticking with me! Thank you for your lovely comments! 
> 
> 3\. They are both so awkward. I kept having to delete lines I'd written for them because I'd accidentally made them too smooth.
> 
> 4\. Jiu jitsu tournaments are a bit stressful and usually very poorly-run. This is all based on personal experience, though my experiences may not be universal. 
> 
> 5\. Cutting weight sucks, which is why I wrote the story so that neither Nursey nor Dex would need to cut weight. It's the worst thing in the universe. Don't do it. 
> 
> 6\. I'm on tumblr @ pensgame. Come talk to me about martial arts or hockey!


	8. Chapter 8

Dex’s match was called first. He stepped onto the mats, looking, if possible, even more intense than he usually did at practice. 

“You got this, Dex,” called Holster, as Dex and his opponent slapped hands. They circled around each other, each looking for ways to take the other down. 

Dex’s opponent moved first, trying to get a grip on Dex’s collar, but Dex slapped his hand away easily, then used the distraction to move in and take his opponent down to the ground.

The other guy didn’t stand a chance. 

“That’s it, Dex,” Ransom yelled, as Dex took side control and edged his way into mount. The other guy made a wild movement with his hips, trying to dislodge Dex, but Dex ignored it and focused his attention on securing a shoulder lock. 

Suddenly Holster stood up, darting across the room to another set of mats. Derek understood: Chowder’s name had just been called. Holster settled in on the bleachers and began to cheer encouragement to Chowder. It was a little muffled through all the cheering and yelling in the room, but Derek was sure he made out the words, “That’s right, Chowder, you’re doing great.”

Dex and his opponent stayed in the same position for a long time, Dex struggling to get the guy’s arm in the right position. 

“One minute left,” called the ref.

“Come on, Dex,” Ransom said, as easily as if it were practice and not a tournament. “You have his arm. You have the submission right there. You just need to connect it.”

Dex’s face was screwed up in concentration. Derek stopped himself from holding his breath while he watched as Dex finally lined up the submission. Dex twisted his wrists and started moving to snap the guy’s shoulder. The guy resisted longer than was probably wise, but finally tapped. 

Derek cheered. Across the room, Derek could see Chowder in the process of demolishing a guy in his weight class. He grinned. He fucking loved his team. 

* * *

Derek’s first match was a blur of adrenaline, over before he could even process what had happened. One second Derek was tapping his opponent’s hand, beginning the match, and the next second, Derek was suddenly dangerously close to being armbarred. The other guy had latched onto his arms, and Derek clasped his hands together, trying not to get submitted.

Derek’s mind was suddenly completely quiet. There was no sound anymore, just the steady pounding of Derek’s heart and the rush of his frantic breathing. He had forgotten how to escape. He had forgotten how to do anything but just lie here in complete panic as this strange man tried to break his arm. 

Derek willed himself to remember how to breathe. Once he could breathe again, he could figure out how to get out of the armbar. He vaguely remembered an escape, and turned all of his attention into freeing his trapped arm. Each second became a little more painful as the other guy tried to break Derek’s grip, to isolate his right arm and break it.

Derek made it out just in time, just as his elbow had felt like it was about to crack in two. Derek’s opponent scrambled into a new position, and before becoming totally aware of what he was doing, Derek had gotten control of the guy’s back and had submitted him with a neat little bow and arrow choke. Derek wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten there, though he distantly understood that he had won and that his right arm wasn’t broken.

He staggered off the mat as soon as the ref let go of his hand, ready to sit down and maybe never stand back up again. Why hadn’t he remembered how tiring fighting was? Why had he signed up for this? What could possibly be enjoyable about having a stranger try to break your arms?

His team ambushed him before he could sit down, congratulating him and hugging him and generally contributing to the sensory overload Derek was already experiencing. 

“You won your first match!” Chowder told him, as though Derek could possibly be unaware. “Two more to go!” 

“I know,” said Derek, trying for enthusiasm and sounding instead like Chowder had told him terrible news. He tried to catch his breath. Everything was dizzy. “Sorry, Chowder, but I need to go get some water.” He broke away from the team, only to have Dex run up to him, a water bottle in his hand. It had lemons floating in it, and Derek would have chirped Dex about it had he had the energy. 

“Thought I’d return the favor and bring a bottle for you this time,” said Dex, “just in case you forgot.”

Derek hadn’t forgotten his water bottle, but he appreciated the gesture, even if he was too out of breath to really say so. 

Dex was clearly bouncing off the walls with nervous energy. “Anyway, dude,” he said, clapping Derek hard on the back and grinning. “Nice choke.”

“Thanks,” said Derek. “I watched your match. Nice Americana.” 

Dex rolled his eyes. “I hate shoulder locks. We almost never train them, since you have that bad shoulder, so I’m a little out of practice.” 

“We should train them more, then.” Derek tried to smile, though it came out more like a grimace. “Sorry, I need to sit down.”

Dex shook his head. “Don’t sit down, you idiot. Just keep walking around until your next match. You’ll just feel like shit if your heart rate plummets and then goes right back up when you get on the mats again.”

He had a point, so Derek stayed on his feet.

“You got this,” Dex said. “You know that, right?”

Derek nodded rather blankly. 

“No, I don’t think you understand,” said Dex, his voice intense. “You have trained too hard to get into a weird headspace now and fuck up your game. I know you, and I know you do that, but you can’t do that today, okay?”

Derek looked at him then, really looked at him, and saw that Dex was somehow more animated than he usually was. 

“You’re my training partner,” said Dex. It was almost uncomfortable to maintain eye contact with him when he was like this. A little bead of sweat trailed down his jawline and Derek watched its progress with interest. Dex was really almost too beautiful to exist, especially like this, when he was in his element. “I’ve trained with you a lot. I know that you have what it takes to win this whole fucking tournament, and I’m not letting you throw that away just because some idiot  _ almost _ armbarred you. News flash: he didn’t. You got out. You’re safe.” 

“Okay,” said Dex. His throat felt dry, and he took the water bottle from Dex, who had been holding it out all this time. He took a sip. “Thank you.” 

Dex’s eyes looked fierce and demanding as he said,“You are going to catch your breath. You are going to drink your water. You are going to walk around until your name gets called for your next match, and then you are going to hold your head high, walk onto the mats, and beat the shit out of that guy. Do you hear me?”

This shook Derek out of his reverie. “I hear you,” he said. The world suddenly felt a lot clearer. “Thank you,” he said again. 

Dex smiled. “I think I’m up next. Wanna come watch me win?” His smile was bright and vicious.

Dex’s second match lasted less than a minute. He locked up a solid triangle choke in the first thirty seconds of the match that his opponent wasn’t able to shake off. The guy turned bright red and looked like he was about to pass out before he finally gave up and tapped. When Dex stood up again, the look on his face was triumphant, but he didn’t gloat. Instead, he helped his opponent to his feet, gave him a brief hug, and then let the ref pull them to the center of the ring. The ref raised Dex’s hand; Dex looked straight at Derek and winked. Derek’s heart skipped a beat. Dex was truly something else. 

Dex bounded off the mats, looking thrilled, and Derek and the rest of the team descended around him in a messy group hug. Derek found himself pressed up against Dex. Everything was dizzy, but in a good way this time. 

When Derek stepped back onto the mats for his second match, he felt ready. He had broken out of the confused, tired headspace he’d been stuck in after his first match. There was nothing to worry about, nothing at all. He was totally in control.

One clear sentence played through his head as though it were a song on repeat.  _ Be better. _ Derek was smashing the other guy’s face with his shoulder. He could feel the other guy struggling, but he couldn’t move, not when Derek was in his element like this.  _ Be better. _ Derek had passed from side control into mount. The other guy was struggling helplessly to escape, but he couldn’t stop Derek’s attacks. Derek slid one hand into the other guy’s collar. The guy knew what was coming, turned to his side to prevent the choke, and offered up his shoulder and arm instead.  _ Be better. _ Derek was suddenly sliding into an armbar. The guy struggled fruitlessly. Derek felt a tiny pop. The guy tapped, and suddenly it was over. 

Everything was a blur, the crowd, the ref raising up his arm, Ransom’s delighted scream, Holster’s overjoyed whoop, the yells and cheers of the crowd. Derek took a deep breath and tried to refocus his vision. His gaze focused on Dex sitting in the crowd directly in front of him, shouting and looking positively terrifying in his happiness. There were no words in the world big enough to describe the feeling that soared through Derek’s chest as he looked at Dex.  He walked off the mats to tumultuous noise and was instantly attacked in another group hug. 

“You killed it,” said Bitty, who was being smushed against Derek’s ribs. 

“Nursey, my dude!” shouted Holster, who seemed to be trying to pick up the entire team. “Way to fucking go.” 

But it was Dex’s smile that was best of all. “I am so proud of you, Nurse,” he said, squeezing Derek’s side. 

The group dispersed, but Dex hung around by Derek’s side. 

Derek’s chest suddenly felt tight as he looked at Dex. “Hey, Dex, can we talk?” 

Dex followed Derek off into a corner of the room, looking mildly confused. “Do you need to stretch some more? We should really walk around a bit more before our match.”

It was suddenly a little harder to breathe.  _ Our match _ . 

“Dude, you okay?” Dex asked, looking concerned. “I thought you were feeling better after your first match.”

Derek took a very deep breath before speaking. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he said finally. 

Dex laughed. “You won’t. Dude, you’ve been training for this for months. Look at that submission you just pulled off! That armbar was sick! How could you mess this up?”

“Not that,” Derek said, gesturing out at the mats and the stands. “This,” he said, with a wave at the space in between himself and Dex.

Dex’s eyes widened in understanding. Then he laughed again. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You have to let me forfeit,” Derek said, his voice rising a little. “I can’t compete against you.” 

Dex rolled his eyes. “Nursey, you can’t forfeit. That’s ridiculous.” 

“I don’t want to compete against you!”

“You compete against me every day in practice,” said Dex. “That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not!” said Derek sharply. “There’s a huge difference between training and fighting. You know there is.”

“Okay,” conceded Dex. “There’s a difference. But so what?”

Derek thought back to the day when he had hit Dex. He remembered how angry Dex had been. Remembered the way Dex had retaliated. Remembered how long it had taken them to move forward from that point. “Bad shit happens when we fight, Dex. We’re great training partners, sure, but bad shit happens when we actually get into a fight.”

Dex blinked. “Nursey, do you really think I’d ever try to hurt you? We trust each other now, you know? We're better than we were a month ago when we got pissed off and hit each other. It’ll be just like practice. Maybe a bit more intense, but just like practice.” 

“Please let me forfeit,” said Derek. His voice broke a little bit, and Dex looked truly alarmed. “I don’t want to compete against you.”

Dex looked a little hurt. “Nursey, we train against each other in practice every day. We make each other better. We should go out there and show the world what we can do.”

Derek didn’t respond.

“Look, if you forfeit to me, I won’t have earned it,” Dex said seriously. “I can’t take a gold medal I didn’t win.” He was so earnest about it that Derek couldn’t help but smile. Cheered by this, Dex continued, “I’ll be happy either way, I swear. Either I win gold or my boyfriend wins gold. Win-win, right?” His eyes were bright and stubborn, and in that moment, Derek was sure he loved him. 

Derek couldn’t find the words to answer, so he pulled Dex into a close hug. He could feel Dex’s heartbeat increase slightly as he held him. Derek was ready to kiss him, but he didn't get the chance. 

Someone was calling their names. Derek let go of Dex and stepped back to see Chowder rushing towards them, shouting, “Your match is up next!”  


"Thanks, Chowder," said Dex, knocking  his shoulder cheerfully against Derek’s as they walked up to the mats. He looked happier than Derek had ever seen him. Everything was easier with Dex, he thought, as he stepped onto the mats. 

“Good luck getting gold,” Derek said. He put in his mouthguard, re-tied his belt, and settled into a comfortable stance. He felt ready. This was comfortable. This was easy. This was _Dex_. 

“Same to you,” said Dex, taking his place across from Derek and putting in his mouthguard.

“Start on the feet,” said the ref. “Tap hands if you want. Your time starts now.”

Derek reached out, tapped hands with Dex, and smiled. He felt unstoppable. Dex grinned back at him. Then they locked eyes, nodded at each other, and began to fight.

Later, when Dex was lounging naked on Derek's bed, Derek's gold medal gleaming around his neck, Derek looked down at his boyfriend and thought  _I could not be luckier._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading through to the end! A few things:
> 
> 1\. As you can probably tell, this whole fic is a love letter to martial arts. I'm seriously considering writing more in this universe - maybe I'll add a sequel or something so that we can finally get Nursey and Dex having really athletic and enthusiastic sex, lol (while Dex wears Nursey's gold medal). 
> 
> 2\. I wanted to show that Nursey and Dex can be complete sports bros who push each other to be better while still being considerate (if a bit awkward) boyfriends. I hope I was able to achieve that. 
> 
> 3\. A big thank you to everyone who congratulated me for taking gold at my tournament! 
> 
> 4\. I'm on tumblr @pensgame.


End file.
